To Conquer the Dark
by My Name Is Nicole
Summary: When a Hero chooses to do what needs to be done, when a Hero delves into magics better left untouched, when a Hero decides to fight fire with fire... Is he truly a Hero anymore? To gain is to lose, and if Harry wants to protect the ones he loves, he'll first have to lose everything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing a Harry Potter fanfic. I strive for quality, and so if you see a problem or issue with my story, or simply have a suggestion for improvement, let me know. There are a few things that are absolute, and suggestions to change them will not be considered. Harry will use dark magic, Harry will NOT be gay, and there will not be character bashing of any kind. Harry might like or dislike some characters more than others, but there will be no absurd OOCness. I will also not reveal what the end result of Harry's usage of dark magic will be, because that is essentially a main facet to the plot of the story. In later chapters, there will be utterly excessive and yet glorious amounts of violence, so if you're under 18, don't continue reading, as I will not interrupt my story or reveal plot elements to warn readers when it's going to start happening. Two more things – first, there is one major cliché in this chapter, in that Harry goes to Gringotts and he has "Family Vaults". Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Second, this story will take place mostly in Hogwarts, and Harry will not have miraculous levels of power with no explanation. I've noticed a trend, in that a lot of authors make Harry arbitrarily older and thus make him arbitrarily more powerful, thus leading to more action and excitement. Well, Harry is in school still, and if you want to see him get powerful, you're going to have to take the journey with him. I'll do my best to have his training go at a quick pace and not be too boring, but it WILL be a major element in this story. With that said, enjoy the story!**

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Blood red eyes burned into his mind, an unrelenting gaze filled with pure hatred and malice. Their thin, catlike irises were rimmed by a fine line of black, and were narrowed in the fearsome likeness of a snake. The scar on his head throbbed in agony.

_Harry Potter._

The eyes slowly morphed, blurring along the edges until they turned into the sad, mournful eyes of his friends. Unshed tears hung glistening, and their gazes filled with the bitter taste of betrayal. Why? They seemed to ask. Why did you fail us? Slowly, the images of his friends began to fade until they were nothing but wispy shadows, and then, nothing.

_You're mine, Harry Potter. _

Out of the shadows came Bellatrix's mad, cackling laughter. It reverberated all around him, everywhere, it was everywhere!

_I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter. _

_I killed Sirius Black!_ The gleeful sound of her laughter served as background noise as Sirius slowly, inevitably, fell into the Veil. His hair waved gracefully in the nonexistent breeze, the ghost of his last smile still on his face. _I killed Sirius Black!_ _I killed Sirius Black!_

_Harry Potter._

The anger, the hatred, it all burned together and formed into a single, shouted _CRUCIO!_

_Harry Potter!_

_NO!_

With a jolt, Harry Potter woke up, and floundered about in his incredibly tangled sheets for a few moments before he finally calmed down. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, and his scar burned uncomfortably on his forehead.

Warily, he climbed out of bed, images from the dream slowly fading from his mind. While not exactly commonplace, Harry was no stranger to such dreams. For you see, Harry Potter of Number 4 Privet Drive was not your typical fifteen-year-old wizard. As a baby, he somehow managed to survive a killing curse from a Dark Lord so feared and powerful, people refused to even utter his name – Voldemort. On that fabled Halloween night so many years ago, James and Lily Potter were betrayed by a man whom they believed to be their friend by the name of Peter Pettigrew. On that night, Voldemort went to Godrics Hollow and single-handedly killed both James and Lily Potter, but when he turned his wand on the one-year-old Harry Potter, his killing curse backfired and destroyed his body, reducing him to a form less than the most lowly spirit and leaving Harry with naught but a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

Harry Potter was hailed as a hero of the magical world, but alas, he grew up far away from fame and magic, and instead was forced to live with his bitter Muggle (non-magical) relations, the Dursleys. Harry Potter grew up in a very unhappy home, and never knew love nor friendship. However, all of that changed when he received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on his eleventh birthday, and Harry was spirited away into a world of magic and adventures. As he grew older, Harry Potter accomplished many amazing feats, usually with the help of his best friends Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. The older he got, the darker his adventures became, and the reality of war and his place in it became apparent.

Pettigrew (otherwise known as Wormtail) knew that Voldemort was looking for the Potters and their newborn son, and knew he would be rewarded handsomely in return for his betrayal. However, he did not know _why,_ for that information was a closely guarded secret, a secret that could now be found splashed over the cover of the Daily Prophet – Harry Potter – The Chosen One? Harry and his friends discovered, deep in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, that there was indeed a prophecy, one that foretold of Voldemort's demise at the hands of Harry Potter. While useful, this information had a very steep cost, one that Harry was not fully prepared to pay. The ordeal at the Ministry lead to the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, at the hands of his deranged cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Although Harry was able to prevent Voldemort from learning the full contents of the prophecy, and exposed the Dark Lord's resurrection to the public, he blamed himself and his rash actions for the death of the one man who he had ever truly seen as family. All over a prophecy, one headmaster Dumbledore had not seen fit to inform him about.

For you see, Prophecies are an ancient and arcane art, and are subject to the capriciousness of free will. Many prophecies are never fulfilled, and are lost to the ever-changing threads of time. When Voldemort went to kill Harry Potter all those years ago, it was to put an end to the baby who he believed could one day grow to defeat him. However, Voldemort did not know the full prophecy, and so did not know that by seeking Harry Potter out, he was marking him as his equal, and setting the prophecy into motion.

Whether by Prophecy, or Fate, or Coincidence, or their very Natures, Harry Potter and Voldemort became inextricably linked, and neither of them will ever rest while the other still draws breath. The seemingly unassuming fifteen, soon to be sixteen, year old was embroiled in a war that had lasted two generations, and if the prophecy was true, it was up to him to end it.

Hedwig gave an angry screech, and rattled her wings against the bars of her cage. Uncle Vernon had, once again, locked her cage and forbidden Harry to let her out. Although, Harry strongly suspected that after a week or two of dealing with her noise, Uncle Vernon would cave-in and allow her back out.

"Don't look at me like that, girl, you know there's nothing I can do," Harry said, although he felt guilty all the same. He understood what it felt like to be locked up, the reminders of which were the cat-flap installed in his bedroom door, and the five (currently unlocked) locks on his door.

She gave him a reproachful glare, and turned her head away. She was having none of it.

With a sigh, Harry looked at his watch and checked the time. It was 5am Saturday morning, of June 25th, 1996. Harry strained his ears, and sure enough, the faint rumblings of Uncle Vernon's snores could be heard in the next room. The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon, but the sky was already a murky blue color, rather than black. It was the start of Harry's summer holidays, although the term 'holiday' was used a bit loosely in his case. He was one of very few teenagers who would actually prefer to be at school than on holiday, because being on holiday meant he had to spend more time with his wretched relatives, the Dursleys. Ron and Hermione had promised to write to him this summer, but he wasn't sure how much they'd be able to tell him about the happenings of the wizarding world. The war was in full force, and yet Dumbledore seemed to think that here, at the Dursley's, was the safest place for him…

Harry's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the thought of the headmaster. For, as much as Harry blamed himself, he couldn't help but partly blame Dumbledore for the events of last year. If Dumbledore had just told him what the Order had been guarding, he never would've rushed into the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive. And Sirius would've never rushed off to the Ministry if Dumbledore hadn't kept him cooped up in Grimmauld Place all the time.

But Sirius would've wanted to go down fighting, his inner voice reminded him.

Still, he thought, still…

Harry's stomach gave another unpleasant lurch, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for several hours. Harry shrugged on an old t-shirt, a jacket, some worn khakis, and a pair of trainers before grabbing his wand and stowing it in his jacket pocket. With Voldemort at large, he wasn't taking any chances. Harry turned to Hedwig and promised that she'd be out of there soon enough before quietly tiptoeing downstairs. The Dursleys wouldn't notice if he grabbed some food, but if he woke them up this early in the morning, there'd be hell to pay.

Absentmindedly, Harry made himself some toast and poured a glass of juice. The stark difference between the dark, sterile kitchen of the Dursleys to the bustling warmth of Hogwarts sent a pang of longing through Harry's chest. He hated it here, with the pristine lawns and the shiny cars and the neighbors who ushered their children along every time he passed them on the sidewalk. "Don't look at him," they would always whisper, afraid that their precious children could somehow be infected by his hooliganism by a mere glance. The Dursleys had successfully convinced everyone that he went to St. Brutus's Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, which made him the official eyesore of the neighborhood.

Still, it was unlikely that anyone would be up and about at this hour, and Harry had nothing better to do, so after washing up the dishes he went outside. Last night's chill still lingered in the crisp morning air, and the Dursleys' perfectly manicured grass was weighed down by a heavy layer of dew. Harry internally exalted at the sense of freedom he felt being out of the Dursleys' house, even surrounded as he was by a street filled with identically stuffy houses. Harry couldn't help but wonder how Sirius felt all of those months trapped inside dark and dreary Grimmauld Place. Thinking of such things made his eyes prickle and his chest ache, something he'd had enough of, thank you very much. Harry refused to wallow, and needed to do something to keep his mind off of Sirius.

So without further ado, he took off running, blocking all thoughts and emotions from his mind except for the mindless automatic process of _left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot_... Harry ran, and ran, and when his legs started aching and his breaths became heavy and pained, he ran some more. Harry had always been good at running, and it had certainly come in handy all those years when Dudley's favorite sport was Harry Hunting. Harry hadn't gone running in a while, but he quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, trusting his body to know what to do. Any thoughts that might have drifted into Harry's head were ruthlessly squashed by his overwhelming sensation of bodily discomfort. The sun slowly crept above the horizon, but Harry took no notice, as consumed as he was in his mechanical endeavor. Suburban houses became one giant blur as Harry padded across the familiar streets of a place he loathed to call his home. Sweat leaked out of him at every pore, but still he kept going, going, going, until he had made an entire loop around Little Whinging. It was only until he started getting closer to Privet Drive that he slowed down, his body trembling and shaking, but his mind clear as a bell.

However, as fate would have it, Harry's peace was to be short-lived. Whether by coincidence, chance, or some subconscious pull that he himself was unaware of, Harry stopped at the worst possible place imaginable.

As he took deep, gulping breaths that did nothing to alleviate the burning in his chest, Harry looked around and noticed a cheerful street sign proclaiming him to be at Wisteria Walk. With a growing sense of dread, he slowly turned his head and saw the alleyway that led to Magnolia Crescent, the alleyway where he had been attacked by dementors just last year, and the alleyway where he had first seen Sirius, all those years ago. Harry let out a scream of frustration, and collapsed down onto the curb. He sat with his head in his hands, futilely trying to keep the thoughts away and the tears from falling. He realized, with no small amount of irony, that this was also the same place on the curb where the Knight Bus had almost run him over. To think, it could've all been over that fateful night, killed in a car accident. The Dursleys would've been proud to have him die in such a mundane, ordinary way. Harry truly hated this place, he wished he could just go back to the wizarding world, just for a moment…

Before Harry realized what he was doing, he was pulling his wand out of the inner pocket of his jacket. Surely, a little excursion couldn't hurt, right? Harry knew that it was risky, beyond risky, especially with Voldemort alive and out for his blood, but dammit, he wasn't a child anymore, and had the right to go wherever he pleased. Standing up from the curb, Harry looked around nervously, feeling very much like a kid about to steal candy from a grocery store, despite his justifications. After reassuring himself that there was nobody around and smoothing his hair over his forehead, Harry cautiously lifted his wand in the air, and almost dropped it in surprise at the monstrously loud "BANG!" that announced the arrival of the Knight Bus.

Before he could even gather his wits, a short, freckly teenaged boy stepped out of the bus and gave what sounded to be a very poorly rehearsed speech.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, offering transportation to stranded witches and wizards since 1866! My name is Bill Wadsworth and I'll be your attendant this evenin…morning! Just name the price, I mean, place, and we'll name the price!"

"Leaky Cauldron," said Harry gruffly, walking into the bus. The less he talked with Bill, the less chance there was he'd be recognized.

"Right-oh! That'll be 11 sickles, Mr…?"

"Dursley," said Harry, rummaging through his pockets. He felt like an idiot for not remembering that he needed money to ride the bus. By chance, he found a single galleon in the front pocket of his jacket, and shoved it into Bill's hands. This excursion had come very close to ending before it had even begun. Already, Harry felt a growing sense of apprehension and anger, wondering why in the world he made such a stupid, reckless decision.

Bill, oblivious to his passenger's dark mood, responded perkily, "Alrighty! Ern, we got another one for the Leaky Cauldron, might as well head there after we drop off Ms. Wiltshire at Tottinghead."

Ern, if he heard Bill, gave no sign of it, and with another BANG! the bus was careening along the English countryside. Harry barely had enough time to grasp the handrail, and even then, he almost buckled to his knees.

"Aye, it's a bit of a bumpy ride, a bit surprising for people when it's their first time riding. But you know, we get some celebrities in here sometimes! Why, I heard that Harry Potter himself rode the bus once, right Ernie?" asked Bill excitedly. Harry nervously flattened down his bangs again, fiercely hoping that this Stan Shunpike clone wouldn't guess who he was.

"Don't be saying things like that Bill, it's bad for business! Now keep yer trap shut!" hollered Ernie from the front. Apparently, the war had already changed all sorts of things, the bus driver's demeanor included.

Bill gave Harry a conspiratorial wink before making the "shh!" gesture over his lips. If Harry wasn't so nervous, he might have found the whole thing humorous. When the bus came to a lurching, grinding stop, a stern-looking woman stood up and walked briskly out of the bus, clearly relieved to be on solid ground once again. Bill counted out Harry's change and handed it to him, right before the bus gave another obnoxious BANG! and started bowling through the cramped alleyways and congested streets of downtown London.

"Alright, you and Mrs. Bagshot are next. I'll just go make sure the old gal is awake," said Bill, trotting off further down the bus. Harry thought it'd be a miracle if anybody ever managed to sleep on the Knight Bus, but when Harry saw Mrs. Bagshot, he understood Bill's concern. She was so old, her eyes were milky and her skin was the texture of a dried-up raisin. As the Knight Bus finally came to halt outside the dingy looking pub that was the Leaky Cauldron, Harry allowed Mrs. Bagshot to leave first before following her at a sedate pace. He didn't want to appear over-eager to leave, and the best way to blend in and not look like he was hiding something was to just act natural.

When Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron he saw Mrs. Bagshot take a seat one of the tables, but she was the only one there besides Tom the barkeep, who rushed over to her enthusiastically to take her order. Apparently, the Leaky Cauldron wasn't doing business like it used to. Harry made his way to the back as unobtrusively as possible, and sighed in relief when he tapped the bricks to get into Diagon Alley.

His relief, however, was short lived. It became quite apparent to Harry that the state of the Leaky Cauldron was by no means unique – everywhere he looked, there were shops with boarded up windows and seedy vendors trying to peddle their wares to the scant number of shoppers scurrying from shop to shop as quickly as possible. One of the shoppers met his gaze and looked quickly away, but not before Harry could recognize what emotion her eyes held – fear. These people were afraid.

Cautiously, Harry made his way down the streets, flattening his bangs nervously once more. Harry wanted to get out of here, and silently cursed himself once again for his impulsiveness. He figured if he was going to do anything, he needed to get money first. He couldn't even ride the Knight Bus back without 5 more sickles, and he didn't fancy asking Tom to use the floo for free since he would undoubtedly have to reveal his identity. So, with newfound determination, he started heading towards Gringotts. Harry hoped that most people would just assume he was a muggleborn due to his distinctly muggle clothes and not pay too much attention to him. It was easy for him to get to Gringotts quickly due to the near-emptiness of the streets, and very soon Harry was trotting up the bronze steps into the grand marble building.

Harry walked straight up to the teller, who briskly asked him what his business was today here at Gringotts. Nervously, Harry cleared his throat, and said "Harry Potter to withdraw money from my vault." He looked around, and it didn't appear as if anybody was listening.

The goblin studied his face intently, and then barked out, "And would you happen to have your Key, sir?"

Harry shook his head no, and the goblin grimaced in distaste. "Due to certain circumstances, we would need blood proof of your identity. Follow me into the back, and we can do the test now."

Harry didn't exactly know what the goblin meant by certain circumstances or blood proof, but it sounded rather ominous. He didn't fancy bleeding himself in front of these goblins, but the Hermione-esque part of his brain reminded him that he was stranded and needed money from his vault if he wanted to head back. With strong reservations, he nodded, and the teller motioned for him to follow.

After walking down a short corridor of marble, the goblin led Harry to a door that opened into another corridor of marble. Finally, they stopped at a door, and the goblin knocked three times. The door swung open, admitting them into a small, circular room that was made of some sort of black crystal. Two other goblins stood waiting in the room, one of them holding a wicked looking silver dagger.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter. Gabgok and Hoddic will explain the situation to you," said the bank teller briskly, before turning around and heading back down the corridor. Goblins could be quite nasty, that's for sure.

"Mr. Potter, it has come to our attention that you are the sole benefactor of the will of the late Sirius Black," began one of the goblins unceremoniously, presumably Gabgok. "He named you his magical heir, and heir to the House of Black. In order to be legally recognized of the new owner of all of Sirius Black's fortunes and estates, as well as the fortunes and estates of the House of Black, we need to do a blood test to ascertain your identity."

Harry froze, unable to understand for a moment what Gabgok was talking about. Shock flooded his veins, and never had he understood the actuality of Sirius' death so starkly. Sirius was dead, gone. He had left everything to Harry, because he wasn't alive to own it anymore. Harry felt a strong lump form in his throat, but he absolutely refused to break down here, in a public place, in front of two random goblins. He was confused, for a moment, as to why exactly Sirius had left everything to him. Then he realized, of course, Sirius would never leave his money for his Voldemort-worshipping family members. Naming Harry was the logical choice. However, there was another, larger part of Harry that swelled with joy and heartbreak at the fact that Sirius left everything to him because he truly did think of him as a son. Harry did his best to quell the surge of emotions, but it was with a slight tremor in his voice that he responded "This is all quite sudden, I just came here to make a withdrawal."

"Of course, Mr. Potter, but surely you didn't think we bleed every client that walks in that forgets their key, now, did you?" smarmily remarked the other Goblin, presumably Hoddic, in a way that made it quite clear what he thought of Harry's intellectual capabilities.

In all honesty, Harry didn't know what to think. This entire thing, from the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley to Gringotts, was one colossally impulsive mistake that seemed to magnify with every decision he made. Harry never thought he'd ever admit it to himself, but he almost wished he had just stayed at the Dursleys. By now, Aunt Petunia must've woken up for her early morning cleaning and noticed he was gone, but hopefully she'd just assume he was prowling around the neighborhood doing what lazy good-for-nothing teenaged boys do. Harry wondered if the Order was aware of his absence, or if there had been a guard at his house at all, before noticing the growing looks of impatience on the goblins' faces.

"Can't I just make a withdrawal without claiming the contents of the will today?" asked Harry, still incredibly shocked and growing more wary of the entire process, especially considering the wicked looking dagger still clutched in the hands of Gabgok, who was sporting an identically wicked grin.

"But of course, Mr. Potter, you would just have to pay us 500 galleons for the inconvenience of preparing the ritual room on such short notice, and then refusing to submit blood evidence even when you're already here and highly capable of doing so. And, of course, there's the small possibility of any of Mr. Black's relatives showing up to claim the contents of the will, the rights to which you would forfeit should you refuse the test," replied Gabgok as cheerfully as goblins were capable of being.

"Wait, why would me wanting to postpone the test have any impact on the will whatsoever?" questioned Harry, feeling remarkably like he had been backed into the corner. He did _not _want to have to deal with this. Having to face the reality of Sirius' death was enough trauma for one day, in Harry's opinion.

"Because, Mr. Potter," responded Hoddic silkily, "since you came to Gringotts in person, you automatically bound yourself to the formal rules and etiquettes of inheritance that we here at Gringotts have upheld since the Middle Ages. Had you not come in, the contents in the will would have passed to you automatically, with nary a complication. However, since you _did_ come in, you implicitly agreed to uphold the ancient customs, an agreement that, if broached, would forfeit your claim to the will."

Harry was internally fuming, and some of his anger must have shown on his face because the goblin's insincere smiles grew even larger. "This entire bloody thing is ridiculous! I just wanted to make a withdrawal so I could head back home!" he spat, mentally cursing these wretched goblins and the absurdity of Goblin law.

"It's tradition," replied the Goblin smoothly, taking great delight in Harry's frustration.

Harry had absolutely no desire to own anything from the House of Black, a family that Sirius himself detested for their belief in blood supremacy and their devotion to the dark arts. However, Harry had even less desire to see any money fall into the hands of Sirius' more deranged family members. The thought of Bellatrix Lestrange cackling merrily as she strolled through Grimmauld Place with galleons falling from her fingertips was enough for Harry to make up his mind, and so with little hesitation he said "Alright, I'll do the test. What exactly do I have to do?"

"Excellent, Mr. Potter, you've made a very wise decision," complimented Hoddic as if he were talking to a small child that had solved a particularly difficult math problem. "All you need to do is stick out your right arm."

"My right arm? But what…" began Harry, reflexively stretching out his arm as if to examine it. However, before he had time to complete his sentence, Gabgok was upon him, the wicked silver dagger slashing neatly through his forearm.

"What the bloody hell! You can't just…!" spluttered Harry, grasping at his arm that was now spurting far more blood than was entirely natural. He immediately felt woozy, and for one crazy moment, he wondered if he was going to die.

"Yes, the magic of the blade hastens your blood flow until the required amount of blood has been spilt on the floor, which should be about… now," said Hoddic airily, and with a start, Harry looked down to see that his flesh was stitching itself together. Within a few seconds, his arm had completely healed, with neither a scratch nor scar to mark where he had been cut open moments before. However, Harry still felt lightheaded, and when his head stopped buzzing after a few moments, he looked up to see that the black crystal (of which the room was comprised) was glittering eerily. Harry watched incredulously as his blood slowly, gelatinously, oozed its way across the floor and up the wall on its own accord. It looked frightfully similar to cherry syrup, and eventually, the blood began to form letters that glowed scarlet on the obsidian stone. After a minute or so, the process was finally over, and Harry was left staring at the words "Harry James Potter."

"Very well, Mr. Potter, your identity had been confirmed," said Gobgak professionally, as if he hadn't just sliced Harry's arm a few minutes ago. "If you'll follow Hoddic, he'll summarize your new accounts and present the will to you, should you desire it."

"What…how in the world did that just happen?" said Harry in gross fascination, still unable to understand how his flesh had mended and his blood had moved on its own without any sort of spell.

"Mr. Potter, when it comes to blood magic, and dare I say, the darker aspects of magic, rest assured that you are woefully ignorant of their usefulness and capabilities," Hoddic replied, not bothering to hide his condescension. "There is no other branch of magic in which the boundaries are so distorted, and thus, no other branch that holds as many seemingly impossible possibilities. Now, if you'll follow me…"

Wordlessly, Harry followed him, suddenly grateful to be finally leaving the macabre room and returning to some level of normalcy. Harry, who had faced Voldemort in person and lived to tell the tale, could honestly admit to himself that he was unnerved. Somehow, he felt betrayed, as if his own blood had partaken in some despicably evil act. The words "Harry James Potter" still burned brightly behind his eyes, and unwittingly, his mind flashed to the burning letters "I am Lord Voldemort" that were the anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle. The similarities were eerie, and Harry involuntarily shivered once before clamping down on that train of thought. _I'm nothing like him, _he thought fiercely. _I didn't enjoy that. _But such a distinction gave him no small degree of comfort.

"In here, Mr. Potter," gestured Hoddic to yet another door. This time, when Harry opened it, it was with some relief that he saw that it was just a normal office. "Now, first things first, if you'd like I can show you the late Mr. Sirius Black's will. He created it purely for legal purposes, and if you're looking for some sort of sentimental last message, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere."

Mutely, Harry shook his head no, not wanting to spend any more time here than he absolutely had to.

"Very well, then the next order of business is a summary of your new accounts," continued Hoddic. "Your personal vault originally contained 1,342 galleons, 214 sickles and 67 knuts. The contents of Mr. Sirius Black's vault have been transferred to your personal vault, and his vault has been closed with his death. Mr. Black's vault held 8,534 galleons, 123 sickles and 91 knuts at the time of his death, along with an assortment of female undergarments."

Harry couldn't hold back a snort. Hoddic glared at him nastily, but continued as if Harry hadn't done anything. "Now, you may access these funds at any time since they were the personal funds of Sirius Black. He also left you an unplottable property, but since it is indeed unplottable, I have no idea where it is."

Harry nodded, and immediately understood that Sirius had left him Grimmauld Place.

"However, the matter of the House of Black vault is a bit more complicated," admitted Hoddic, his ever-present sneer growing even more pronounced. "It holds an addition 11,378 galleons, 45 sickles, and 13 knuts, along with an assortment of preserved muggle scalps dating back to 432 BC, and a collection of old wands from deceased Black family members. The contents of the vault legally belong to you; however, to physically gain access to the House of Black vault, you must be accepted by the family ring. It is a unique peculiarity of the House of Black, and there are only a handful of other family vaults in Gringotts with similar protective measures. Should you be accepted by the family ring, you would be able to enter the vault, but much like your House of Potter vault, you cannot withdraw anything until you turn seventeen."

Bemused, Harry responded "I never knew I had a House of Potter vault."

"As we have already ascertained, Mr. Potter, there are a number of things you don't know," said Hoddic rather nastily. Harry was getting fed up with all the insults, but by this point, knew that arguing with the goblin would be useless, and just stayed quiet. "As it is, the House of Potter vault is mostly empty, and contains only 15 galleons, 12 sickles and 19 knuts, along with some furniture and robes that have been in there for several generations."

Harry repressed a shudder – the furniture and robes must be _ancient. _An image of Ron dressed in his horribly frilly dress robes came unbidden into his mind, and Harry was rather unsuccessful at turning his laughter into a sudden, hacking cough. He gestured vaguely at Hoddic to continue.

"I have the Black family ring with me here," said Hoddic, fetching an elaborate stone box from a drawer and presenting it to Harry. It looked like it was made of jade, with carved snakes along the edges and glittering emeralds and onyx stones inlaid throughout. It was exactly the sort of dark, gaudy thing Harry would have expected from the House of Black. Hoddic opened the box, and inside was a rather simple silver ring with an enormous black onyx, on the surface of which were the words "Tourjous Pur" in microscopically small emeralds.

"All you need to do is try it on," said Hoddic, being unusually helpful, which immediately put Harry on his guard. Nevertheless, seeing no reason to delay, Harry grabbed the ring and pushed it onto his pointer finger. For a second, nothing happened, and Harry let out a sigh a relief that there would be no more surprises. However, all of a sudden Harry felt a sharp prick, and without warning, the ring started vibrating and burned a bright scarlet red, scorching his finger in the process. With reflexes born of many years of quidditch, Harry snatched the ring off his finger and tossed it onto the table, where it smoldered for a bit before growing still.

Glaring at Hoddic, Harry managed to bite out "And I'm sure I was supposed to know that would happen as well?"

"Well, Mr. Potter, I _am _curious what you thought would happen if you put on a ring for a family whose motto is "Tourjous Pur," said Hoddic, who seemed to be in very good humor. "The Blacks pride themselves on blood purity, so it's very logical that they'd have a protection on the family ring preventing anyone who isn't a Black, or indeed, anyone who isn't a pureblood, from wearing it."

Harry did indeed wonder why he was so surprised, and intensely wished he could use magic so he could blast the Black ring to smithereens. His finger had a very noticeable and very painful burn mark, and a small dribble of blood leaked from where the ring had pierced his skin. At that moment, Harry understood just what Sirius meant when he said that his family members were 'the worst sort of blood supremacists.' The thought of using their gold to help fight Voldemort sent a rush of vindictive pleasure through Harry, and a plan came unbidden into his mind. "So, you're saying the vault is legally mine, but I just can't go into it?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, I believe that is the conclusion we've reached. Although you're always welcome to try on the ring again," offered Hoddic, who seemed a bit too pleased at the idea.

"Well then, I'd like the contents of the House of Black vault transferred to the House of Potter vault," said Harry succinctly.

After a moment's pause, Hoddic managed to say, "Excuse me, Mr. Potter?" The goblin clearly hadn't anticipated this turn of events.

"Here, I'll explain this _slowly_ so that you can understand," said Harry viciously, feeling enormously gratified when Hoddic bared his teeth in his ugliest grimace yet. "If I legally own the money, then I can transfer it wherever I damned well like, even if I can't use it until I'm seventeen. Therefore, I'd like it transferred to my House of Potter vault, which I can't use until I'm seventeen anyway. Surely, an institution as _prestigious_ as Gringotts should be able to handle such a simple matter as a transfer. Oh, and I'd also like a copy of my House of Potter vault key, just for security purposes, as I'm sure you understand, and a 100 galleon withdrawal, which is the only reason why I came to this _illustrious_ institution in the first place."

Hoddic stared at Harry silently for a few moments, and Harry got the distinct impression that he was reevaluating his initial appraisal. After several more long seconds of silence, Hoddic finally said, "I'll call someone to take you down to your vault."

* * *

Harry left Gringotts whistling cheerfully, inordinately pleased for someone who had just been stabbed, bled, and burnt in the span of an hour. A bright orange pouch sat nestled in his pocket, and it jangled enticingly with every step he took. He made it about halfway down the bronze steps before his mind registered the wayward glances being thrown his way by a rather large group of people. It was possible that they were just perplexed by his good mood, but it was equally possible that they were beginning to realize who he was. Harry gave the nearby onlookers what he hoped to be a winning grin, before all but sprinting down the rest of the steps and into the nearest shop, which happened to be a small seedy bookstore at the intersection of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley.

A dingy little brass bell rung out, announcing his entrance to the shop. Harry peered around, but he seemed to be the only person in the bookstore. The group of people outside was slowly disbursing, and Harry let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. Around him, a selection of old, battered books were piled and stacked haphazardly onto a number of crooked, mismatched bookshelves that were falling apart in some places. A smell of mold and old food lingered in the air, and the wooden floorboards creaked angrily with every step he took. Nevertheless, Harry felt compelled to be a bit polite, and called out, "Hello? Is anybody there?"

Silence. Unnerved, Harry turned to leave, but a book crammed into the bookshelf nearest to the door caught his eye. Harry could only see the first half of the cover, which read "What Your Hogwarts Teachers – " Intrigued, Harry picked up the book, and saw that the second half read " – Never Taught You." Its pages were bent and clearly earmarked in some places, and there was a disgusting yellow stain on the back cover next to a tag declaring the price to be 3 sickles. Harry opened the book, looking for a Table of Contents, but there wasn't one to be found. With 100 galleons in his pocket, he supposed he could spend the money, even if the book ended up being a total waste of his time. Harry walked to what he supposed was the sale counter, and instead of an attendant, found a scribbled handwritten note that said "Out doing things. Leave money on desk."

Feeling generous, Harry fished out a galleon and tossed it onto the counter before walking out of the shop. He had spent way too much time in Diagon Alley, and it was time to get back. Harry, mimicking the other shoppers, walked briskly through the alley, keeping his gaze down so as to avoid any eye contact. He made it to the Leaky Cauldron in record time, and marched through the pub before Tom could so much as get out a "Good morning!" Once he was outside in muggle London, Harry thrust his wand into the air, this time not jumping when the telltale BANG! of the Knight Bus rang through the busy streets. Harry cringed as the bus almost steamrolled over an elderly man , only to contort itself at the last moment.

"Hello there, I'm Bill Wadsworth and welcome to the Knight Bus! We've been picking up stranded… Oh, it's you again!" said Bill happily.

Harry once again flattened his bangs before climbing aboard the bus, putting a galleon into Bill's hand with a grunted "Keep the change."

Bill looked thrilled to receive so large of a tip, and perked up even more than Harry thought was possible. Harry almost found himself missing Stan Shunpike. "Oh wow, thanks! Where to, Mr. Dursley? We'll head straight there!" said Bill, earning a scoff from Ernie in the front.

"Same place you picked me up. Little Whinging," instructed Harry. He grabbed onto the rail, and sure enough, an instant later a BANG! rocked through the bus, that was now zooming down rows and rows of identical looking suburban houses.

Ernie, abandoning the most cardinal rule of driving, turned all the way around in his seat, scrutinizing Harry critically. Suddenly, Harry felt very stupid, because it was highly likely that Ernie remembered picking up a young Harry Potter at this exact spot a few years back. And, if Harry admitted it to himself, he hadn't changed all that much in his appearance.

After a few moments, and a few instances where entire houses jumped out of the way of the driverless 3-ton death machine, Ernie turned away. Harry couldn't be certain, but he could've sworn he saw Ernie give him a slight wink.

Suddenly, the bus came to a gut-wrenching stop, and Bill announced, "Here we are, Mr. Dursley! We hope you enjoyed your trip on the Knight Bus!" Harry gave him a curt nod before clambering out of the bus. By the position of the sun shining merrily into his eyes, Harry assumed that it was around 8 or 9am, which meant that both Aunt Petunia _and _Uncle Vernon were aware of his absence. He trudged the last few streets to Privet Drive, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he walked up the steps and onto the stoop of #4. He opened the door, only to find all the Dursleys seated at the table having breakfast. All three turned to look at him at once, and Harry found some dark amusement at the speed with which Vernon's face turned a bright shade of red.

"BOY! JUST WHAT SORT OF MISCHIEF WHERE YOU UP TO?" bellowed Vernon, banging his hand on the table and causing little specks of egg to fly into the air.

"Leaving at all hours of the day without a word, I won't have it, I tell you!" shrilled Petunia, who was absently cleaning up all the pieces of egg that Vernon had sent flying.

Dudley, who had outgrown most of his baby fat and turned it into bulky muscle through a new-found love of boxing, turned in his seat to watch his favorite spectacle. His watery blue eyes shined with glee at seeing Harry being yelled at.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just couldn't sleep and went out for a walk," said Harry apologetically. "I would've told you where I was but I didn't want to wake you." More like he wouldn't have let his relatives know where he actually was even if they tortured him half to death, but he decided to keep that fact to himself.

Vernon seemed moderately appeased, as evidenced by his face returning to its normal coloration, but Petunia wasn't done with him yet. "Well since you're late to breakfast, you're not going to get any. Also, since I had to cook breakfast, you're going to have to make lunch and dinner! And the garden needs weeding!" she barked, beginning to clear the plates off of the table.

Harry, knowing a dismissal after many long years of dealing with the Dursleys, mumbled a "Yes Aunt Petunia," and headed up to his room.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

**A/N Okay, so there's chapter one. Not much has happened so far, but dramatic changes will be happening next chapter. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Some people have been curious about the book I had Harry buy, so I figured I'd clarify. No, it's not a dark arts book, and it's not even a particularly good book. However, it does contain some information that is critical to the magic system I'm trying to set up. It doesn't appear in this chapter, but you'll be seeing a lot of it next chapter.**

* * *

Harry woke up with a pained gasp as his head _thunked _onto the floor. His legs were once again tangled in his sheets, and sweat covered his body from another horrifying nightmare about Voldemort. Harry awkwardly pulled his legs out of the covers, causing the rest of his body to _thud _on the floor next to him. Thankfully, the floor was spotlessly clean due to Aunt Petunia's ministrations, but cleanliness didn't exactly equal comfort, as his head could attest to.

Harry groaned and raised himself to a sitting position. His body was sore from running and weeding the garden yesterday, the latter of which consumed his entire afternoon. Aunt Petunia was an absolute slave driver when it came to her begonias.

Climbing to his feet, Harry noticed that Hedwig was still asleep. He was thankful for it, because her screeching on top of the noise from him falling out of bed would have likely woken the Dursleys. A quick glance at his bedside clock revealed the time to be 5:32am. It was much earlier than he was used to waking up, but the dream was much too vivid for him to be able to go back to sleep, and his heart was still racing in his chest. Already, his memory of the dream was slipping away, but he knew the gist of it all the same.

Darkness. Destruction. Death.

He tossed on some clothes, grabbed his wand, and headed downstairs. Harry was painfully aware of the mundane pattern that was beginning to develop, and it made him ache longingly for the excitement and adventure of Hogwarts. As he crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, the silence and sterility of the house was suffocating. He was again reminded that there was no laughter, no joy, to be found at #4 Privet Drive.

Harry popped a biscuit into the toaster and poured himself a glass of milk. Sitting by himself at the Dursley's dinner table in their dark kitchen was always one of the saddest parts of his annual summer holidays. It reminded him that here, in his home, he was absolutely alone. Finishing up his breakfast, Harry once again removed the evidence of his 'transgression' and cleaned up the dishes. Sighing, he looked at the clock. It was only 5:49.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. There were very few things that he could do to entertain himself silently, and none of them sounded particularly appealing. He could start his homework, but he doubted that even Hermione had started her homework this early into the holidays. He knew that Petunia woke up at 7:30am for her morning cleaning, and if she noticed he was gone, she'd assign him even more chores. But, there was honestly nothing for it. Really, it was much too oppressive in this house to stay indoors. He had felt much better after running yesterday, despite the unfortunate series of events that occurred afterwards. Even if he got caught, he could admit to himself that he might prefer the extra chores to total monotony.

Harry stealthily unlocked the door and headed outside, breathing in the thick English air. It was slightly foggy this morning, and his skin was soon moist from the humidity. It wasn't really a good morning to go running, and Harry knew he was chancing it as it was. But alas, there are very few forces in this world as unpredictable and impetuous as a bored teenage boy, and so he started running once again.

His thighs and calves immediately protested the action, but Harry was no stranger to pain. He merely gritted his teeth and kept going at a faster pace. Soon, he was several streets away from Privet Drive, and the path ahead was obscured by dense fog. His skin was drenched in a mixture of humidity and sweat, and his shirt clung uncomfortably on his back. Still, he ran on, heedless to his discomfort, and mindful only of the repetitious motion of _left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, breath, breath, breath_. Harry was rather lost, but he took comfort in the wand stashed away in his jeans and the knowledge that he was out and about and doing _something._

However, as countless minutes went by, and as Harry's breath grew more and more labored, he became aware of a rather uneasy sensation. Somehow, in some way, Harry perceived that he was being watched. Followed, even. Harry stopped abruptly, and then immediately cursed himself for doing so - now whatever was following him knew that he knew. Harry crouched down instinctively and began scrutinizing the fog that hung lazily all around him. There was no eerie chill or coldness that signaled a dementor attack, but every shape that materialized seemed vaguely threatening. The fog swirled around him ominously, muffling the sounds of the outside world. Harry grasped his wand, and called out breathlessly "Hello? Anybody there?" He waited for long moments, but there was only silence.

Harry shook his head as if clearing off flies, and decided that the fog was making him paranoid. He turned around and went to stow his wand back into his pocket, but suddenly there was a massive racket to his right that sounded suspiciously like someone knocking over rubbish bins, followed by a chain of curses that were vulgar enough to make a pixie blush.

Harry smiled – he knew that voice.

"Tonks! I know it's you! Come on out!" called out Harry. There were a few more seconds of silence before someone gave a loud _huff _of frustration.

"Wotcher, Harry! I'm supposed to be undercover," admitted Tonks, finally appearing out of the fog. "Not that you make it easy! I mean bloody hell, you think I _want _to be running after you in the wee hours of the morning?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, especially considering the state of her dishevelment. Her normally vivid pink hair was a mousy brown and was plastered onto her head by a rather disgusting amount of sweat.

Tonks glared at him ferociously for a few moments before finally cracking a thin smile. "What exactly are you doing, running around this early?" she asked with exasperation. "You know it's not safe to go too far away from the Dursleys. Hell, it's not safe for you anywhere. There's a guard on your house 24/7. Mudungus Fetcher said he nearly had a heart attack keeping up with you yesterday. I thought he was just exaggerating, but now I know that he was actually telling the truth for once."

Harry was not surprised to learn that he was being guarded, but it rankled on his nerves to know that they were purposefully trying to keep him in the dark about it. He felt a small thrill of satisfaction at being able to outrun his guard, and it seemed like his little adventure had escaped being noticed by sheer dumb luck. He could only assume that Mudungus didn't want to admit that he had lost Harry and so had kept the whole thing quiet. However, seeing Tonks' panting form, he also felt a tad guilty for making the Order's job harder. After all, she didn't have to give up part of her day to keep him safe, and he sincerely doubted that she was getting paid for it. It seemed like a bit of honesty would be the best policy in this case.

"I've been having nightmares," Harry admitted, looking down at the sidewalk. "About Voldemort. And Sirius. Running helps me clear my head. I'm sorry, I didn't know I was making things harder for you."

Tonks' face grew solemn, and her mouth twisted into a sympathetic frown. "Look, don't apologize. I told them that we should've told you about the guard; it's not your fault that you didn't know. You just didn't hear it from me. But hey," she said hesitantly, suddenly sounding much more awkward, "If you ever need any help, or want to talk to somebody…about, you know…"

"Yeah, err, thanks Tonks," said Harry, equally uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He went running to forget about Sirius, not to remember him.

"So, can we head back?" asked Tonks, flipping some of her bedraggled hair out of her face.

Really, thought Harry, she might be able to out-duel me, but she's got nothing on me on the stamina department

"Sure, I think I'm done for today anyway," agreed Harry, turning around. The two of them started walking at a leisurely place, and the thinning fog seemed much less ominous to Harry now that he was with someone.

"Wait, you aren't actually thinking about running again tomorrow, are you?" entreated Tonks, looking incredibly put-out by the idea. "I have guard duty for you every morning this week!"

"Well, yeah, I don't have much else to do. You should join me, it looks like you could use the workout," said Harry flippantly.

In the blink of an eye, Tonks had her wand out and wavering dangerously a few inches in front of Harry's face. "Did you just call me _fat?" _she practically growled, her wand sending out frightening red sparks.

"No! No!" protested Harry, backpedaling immediately. Poor Harry had never truly learned the cardinal rule of women, and was now paying the price. "I just meant, you seem really tired is all! It might give you an edge if you were more athletic than the other aurors! But really, you're beautiful the way you are, and intelligent, and gorgeous, and funny, and I'm an idiot and I'm so so sorry."

After spitting out a few more sparks, Tonks' wand finally lowered, and she appeared to be slightly mollified. With a curt nod, she continued walking again, and Harry followed after her, making sure to keep a safe distance this time.

Women were nutters.

After several minutes of awkward silence, Harry noticed that the fog was really starting to clear up. Somehow, that made things seem lighter, and he regained enough confidence to ask, "So, how come you could shoot out sparks without the Ministry noticing?"

"What?" asked Tonks, who hadn't really been paying attention.

"Well, I was blamed for a hover charm a house elf did in my second year," explained Harry, "and then they tried to charge me for casting the patronus charm last year. How come you could send out sparks? I figured they'd be monitoring this area as close as possible."

"Harry, both of those are actual spells," said Tonks. She must have felt bad for overreacting earlier, because she was in a particularly informative mood. "Shooting out sparks barely registers on the Ministry's radar, no more than short bursts of accidental magic. Besides, with Fudge on the way out, you can rest assured that it'd be a political disaster for him to accuse you of anything, especially after the debacle he made of trying to deny your account of Voldemort's return."

"So what? Are you saying I can use magic now?" asked Harry excitedly. Possibilities immediately began swirling in his head, from getting his chores done quicker to tormenting Dudley.

"Absolutely **not**," said Tonks sternly. "What I _am _saying is that were at war, and the Ministry is hardly going to be concerned about a few sparks several miles away from the residence of Harry Potter."

Harry grew silent at that, somber and disappointed. The wizarding world was at war, and he was stuck with the Dursley's without magic for two and a half months, twiddling his thumbs. The prophecy hung over his head like a guillotine, with Voldemort poised to pull the rope to send it crashing down. Still, he thought, there might be a way to get in some practice.

"So how about it?" asked Harry.

"How about what?" replied Tonks, sparing him a confused glance.

"You go running with me in the mornings, and after, we can practice dueling. Not with spells!" Harry modified hastily, seeing the look on Tonks' face. "Just with sparks. That way I can improve my technique and you can improve your stamina – which is definitely already fine as it is!"

Tonks' face slowly morphed from one of frustration into one of sincere contemplation. Harry had no idea what she was thinking, but crossed his fingers behind his back and fervently hoped that she would say yes.

"Alright Harry, you've got yourself a deal," she said, her face emotionless even as Harry let out a celebratory cheer. "BUT! It'd have to stay strictly between us, for the time being. And it'd have to be on my schedule, because I never know when something might come up at the office."

"Thank you Tonks! That's perfect, you have no idea how much that'll help!" said Harry excitedly, absolutely thrilled at the idea of having something to do this summer other than run and do chores. But not just something – something magical, something that could actually help him beat Voldemort.

"I have some idea," she said sarcastically, but with a small grin. "I don't know why they're making you stay here, but if you're going to end up facing… _him…_ again, it's better that you're prepared."

After that, Harry and Tonks continued walking back to the Dursleys, the trip taking much longer now that they were walking instead of running. They chatted about the upcoming dueling practice, which Tonks absolutely refused to call 'dueling' and instead referred to as 'practicing.' They planned to 'practice' every evening after dinner at 7pm, which was the time that the Dursleys deemed acceptable for him to leave the house if his chores were finished (and when Tonks happened to get off work), until Harry's curfew of 10pm, which was the latest time the Dursley's deemed acceptable for him to be out and about. Harry thanked Tonks profusely, and repeatedly assured her that he wouldn't slack during their lessons. Tonks shrugged off Harry's thank-you's, and repeatedly reminded him that their lessons were to remain a secret. When they finally got back to #4 Privet Drive, it was nearing 7am, and the sun was already shining.

"Well, it's time for me to go incognito again," said Tonks, with barely a hint of a smile. Harry, who has always prized himself on understanding female emotions better than Ron Weasley, couldn't help but notice that Tonks had been much more reserved and gloomy than she normally was. At first, he had thought she was just angry at him for making her run, but now he realized that it was something deeper that was troubling her.

"Hey Tonks, are you alright?" queried Harry hesitantly. He didn't exactly fancy being on the receiving end of her wrath twice in one day.

"Yeah Harry, I'm fine," she said absently. "Nothing for you to worry over."

"I mean, if you're sure. Like you said to me earlier, if you ever want to talk…" offered Harry.

For some reason, this seemed to amuse her more than anything he had said earlier. "Thanks, Harry, honestly," she said smiling. "I'm not trying to be mean, but I have other friends besides fifteen-year-olds. It's not really something you, or anybody else, can help me with."

Her good humor removed most of the sting from her words, but Harry still felt reprimanded. Tonks had an uncanny way of making him feel like a little boy. Harry took some satisfaction knowing that they'd be sparring later tonight, and he'd be able to show her how mature he really was.

"I understand Tonks. Well anyway, I'll see you tonight!" said Harry, turning around to head inside.

"Likewise, Harry. Don't try to contact me, another guard will be filling in for me at 9am," she informed him. "And no, don't ask me who, I'm not telling you. Until then!" And with that, she pulled a cloak out of her pocket and tossed it around her shoulders, becoming an amorphous blur that was almost indistinguishable from her surroundings.

Harry merely shook his head, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. He headed inside and crept up the stairs, avoiding the squeakiest of the steps and staying silent enough to hear the faintest rustling noises in the next bedroom. Aunt Petunia was probably getting ready for the day, he surmised.

Pleased with his success, Harry changed back into his pajamas and got back under the covers. He closed his eyes and managed to doze off for a little bit before he heard a sharp rapping noise on his door.

"Boy! It's time to get up! Breakfast needs to be made and the car needs to be washed!" called out Aunt Petunia.

Harry groaned and managed to call back, "I'll be down in a minute!" She seemed to be satisfied with his answer, and he heard her steps retreating downstairs. Really, thought Harry with a large grin on his face. This morning couldn't have gone any better.

* * *

"Really, boy, what in the world has gotten into you?!" protested Uncle Vernon. The source of his ire, as always, was Harry, who was currently scarfing down his potatoes like they were the last meal he'd ever have. He was eating faster than both Dudley _and _Vernon, an accomplishment that was sure to give him a stomach ache later, but something he didn't really care about at the moment.

"Nuffin'" Harry managed to get out through his mouthful of food, earning him a sneer of disgust from Aunt Petunia.

"Don't talk with your mouth full at my dinner table!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, ignoring her own son, who was chewing in a much more disgusting manner next to Harry.

Harry swallowed thickly, and washed down the last of his food with a few gulps of water. "I'm sorry, may I be excused?" Harry asked with as much politeness as he was capable of mustering.

Of course, his relatives weren't used to such courtesy from him, and were instantly suspicious. "Where are you going out this late?" interrogated Uncle Vernon, determined to find the reason for Harry's odd behavior.

"Out. There's a football game in the park that I want to watch," lied Harry expertly. There _was _actually a neighborhood football game, but Harry had absolutely no intention of watching it.

Vernon looked confused. On the one hand, he wanted to deny Harry anything that would make him happy, but on the other hand, he wanted Harry out of his hair as much as possible. Since football was such a distinctly muggle pastime, there was little Uncle Vernon could be disapproving of. Harry watched all of these thoughts play across his Uncle's face, and he knew the moment a decision had been reached.

"Alright then, you can go," Vernon allowed, still looking unhappy with it. "But remember, no funny business! And be back by 10pm!"

"Of course, sir," agreed Harry placidly. He was actually surprised at the ease of the deception, and did his best to appear nonchalant. Soon, dinner was over, and Harry helped his Aunt clear the table while Dudley and Vernon retired to the living room to watch the telly. His Aunt kept shooting him suspicious looks, but she was much too 'proper' of a housewife to go against her husband's decision.

Soon, Harry found himself outside, happy that the sun had finally gone down. He had a mild sunburn from washing the car earlier today, and he knew it would only get worse as the summer went on. He looked around, and vaguely wondered what he was supposed to do. Tonks said not to contact her, but how was he supposed to get her attention? What if she wasn't even here? Suddenly, this whole thing seemed very poorly planned. Harry slowly ambled out of the yard and into the street, deciding that he'd be more conspicuous to Tonks and less conspicuous to the Dursleys if he started moving.

As he made his way cautiously down the road, he gave a startled yelp when he felt something grab his arm.

"Shhhhh! It's me!" whispered a disembodied voice that Harry recognized as belonging to Tonks. Sure enough, when Harry looked over, he saw a faint burring of air that was the telltale sign of a person under a subpar invisibility cloak. "Don't say anything, just follow me."

Harry followed her, not that he had much choice, considering that she was still holding onto his arm. They walked in silence for several blocks, and Harry wondered what the neighbors must think seeing the delinquent of the neighborhood walking around by himself after dark. He then reminded himself that he was about to practice magic, and decided that he couldn't care less.

Tonks led him to a cul-de-sac in what the Dursleys would refer to as the seedy part of town. The road was completely empty except for a single, solitary lot. From what Harry could see, the lot looked like it was abandoned, as evidenced by the wild grass and the absence of a car in the driveway. The yard was surrounded on all sides by an old sturdy wooden fence that went about a foot over his head, and didn't have any sizable gaps that he could discern. The gate creaked loudly in the otherwise silent street, and Harry looked around nervously to make sure that nobody had heard them.

"Tonks, I'm pretty sure this is breaking and entering!" hissed Harry under his breath.

An amused chuckle was Tonks' response. "From what I've heard from Snape, you don't have any qualms about breaking a few rules. Besides, calm down, nobody lives here. It's just an abandoned lot with a spectacularly convenient fence," she assured him, taking off her invisibility cloak once the gate was closed. They climbed up the steps and into the house through the unlocked front door.

Looking around and noticing that the house was completely devoid of any furniture, Harry was inclined to believe her. Once he walked inside, Tonks closed the door behind him, sealing them off from the outside world. Now that they were face to face, Harry was inexplicably nervous. He had never dared to practice magic outside of Hogwarts before, and it was hard to forget that outside of the fence was a suburban neighborhood filled with muggles.

Tonks seemed to sense his unease, and calmed his nerves by saying "Harry, don't worry. I scoped this area out before hand, absolutely nobody comes down here, and you can't see the sparks from outside the fence. I figured we can practice both indoors and outdoors, so you can get used to both types of settings."

Harry immediately saw the logic of her plan, and nodded to show his assent. The darker part of his mind reasoned that even if they did get caught, Tonks would get in trouble much more than he would. At this realization, he felt even more respect for the risk Tonks was taking on his behalf, and resolved to work harder than ever.

"So, are you ready?" she asked him, drawing her wand. Her face was set in intense determination, and Harry suddenly realized that she wouldn't go easy on him.

"Yeah," replied Harry, drawing his own wand. "Now, are we supposed to assume that each trail of sparks represents a stunner, or what?"

Tonks let out a bark-like laugh that was eerily reminiscent of Sirius. "Harry, the Death Eaters aren't going to be aiming to stun you, they'll be looking to maim, torture, or otherwise kill you. Any time one of my 'spells' hit you, just assume it means you're dead," she said nonchalantly.

Harry was not prepared for this level of seriousness, especially on the first day of practice. But still, he gave a grim nod, indicating that he understood.

"Ok then, on my count! 3…2…1…GO!" yelled out Tonks. Instantly, five different trails of light came streaming right at him, and it was all Harry could do to run behind a wall before they went sailing inches from his face.

Tonks kept a chain of sparks streaming next to where his head would be if he tried to emerge from behind the wall, blocking Harry's escape. But, Harry, noticed, she was aiming a little high, and so crouched down beneath the sparks and darted into the opening, letting out a slew of sparks of his own. Tonks danced nimbly backwards and to the left to avoid his sparks, and sent a return volley to his new position. Harry barely had time to drop down to his stomach to let the sparks sail over his head, and sent a new round of sparks back at her from the ground. This time, he staggered their positioning, anticipating that she would dodge.

However, Tonks was no beginner, and managed to maneuver around every 'spell' Harry sent at her, before sending even more back at Harry. So many sparks were in the air that Harry's eyes were blurring painfully, and he barely managed to log-roll out of the way of the incoming wave. However, the roll left Harry disoriented and knocked his glasses askew, and when he returned fire to Tonks, he was firing blindly. When he finally felt the harmless splash of a 'spell' against his back, he groaned loudly, knowing that meant that he had lost.

Harry Potter, "The Chosen One, couldn't even beat a rookie auror in a mock duel. He might as well hand himself over to Voldemort right now. Pathetic, he was pathetic. He couldn't even last two minutes.

"Well done Harry! Truly, you did much better than I thought you would!" praised Tonks, oblivious to Harry's dark mood. "I had the advantage of first offense, but you had the advantage of position. You should've never gone out into the open, you had a strong defensive position," lectured Tonks. "But you did the right thing by crouching down, it both minimized my target and gave you a chance of retaliation. Better strategy would have been to crouch down, dart out to retaliate, and then retreat back behind the wall. In an actual fight, where you can actually die, you can't afford to pull a kamikaze attack."

Harry could barely hear her past the force of blood pounding through his ears. He was angry, _furious_, at her, at the Order, and especially at himself. Never before had he been so forcefully shown his weakness, never before had his failures been laid so bare. How could he possibly defeat Voldemort? _How?_

"And what were you thinking, getting onto your stomach? It was unexpected, I'll give you that, but it made you a sitting duck. Never give up the advantage of mobility!" Tonks continued. "And those glasses are a real liability; they drastically impair your vision during battle. There's a certain spell that can give you temporarily correct eyesight, but it's devilishly tricky to cast and only lasts for a few hours at the most. I personally can't do it, I wouldn't even try, if I did it wrong I could blind you forever."

Harry interrupted her with a curt and bitter "It's not like it would really matter."

Tonks instantly grew silent, a growing look of dawning displeasure on her face. "What do you mean, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"I mean that this entire thing is fucking useless!" shouted Harry, finally climbing to his feet. "I'm a dead man walking Tonks, don't you get it? Dead."

"Harry, do you have any idea what you're saying?" reprimanded Tonks, getting angry now as well. "I never took you for a sore loser."

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying!" yelled Harry. A small part of him was telling him not to take out his frustrations on Tonks, but the majority of him was much too enraged and emotional to truly care. "I'm 'The Chosen One' and I can't even beat _you! _I'm supposed to be a hero, but really, I'm just a kid who's gotten lucky! I'm nothing, _Nymphadora_! It's all lies, all of it! Everyone wants me to save them, but how the fuck can I save them when I can't even win a fight?!"

If Tonks was angry before, that was nothing to how she appeared now. Her nostrils were flaring, and her eyes were narrowed into tiny slits. Her hair morphed into a brilliant shade of fire red, and her hand clenched spasmodically on her wand as if itching to curse him.

"Now you listen here, you prat!" she said harshly, storming up to Harry and getting right into his face. Harry was taken aback at her ferocity, used to his friends just riding out his angry rants or trying to calm him down. He had never seen this side of Tonks before. "Do you have any idea how many good people have _died? _How many people who have suffered, how many people whose families have ripped apart by that monster? You think it's all about you, but it's not! This war is bigger than any single person! I don't put much stock into prophecies, but if you're actually the one that has to kill him, you damned well better do it! If you give up, if you, Harry Potter, decide that you're somehow too special to actually dig deep and train like the rest of us, then all of those deaths, all of that suffering, will have been for _nothing."_

"But it's not fair!" Harry protested feebly, feeling a rush of guilt. "I never asked for any of this!"

"Nothing is fair, Harry! You think it was fair, what happened to Cedric? You think it's fair, what happened to Sirius?" she asked him, her eyes suddenly shiny.

She had dealt him a low blow, and she knew it. But Harry, for once, seemed to actually be listening.

"Harry, listen to me," Tonks said, her voice lowering and becoming earnest as she backed out of his personal space. "I'm not doing this, I'm not training you, because I have nothing better to do with my time. I'm doing this because you need it. And we need you."

To say Harry felt like a piece of vermin is probably the understatement of the year. Tonks had sliced and diced him, and he had absolutely nothing to say in his defense. Harry had a hard time meeting her gaze, but when he did, it was softer than he expected it to be.

He looked at her a few moments, before finally managing to get out "You're right. I'm sorry." And truly, he was. He had lashed out like a child at someone who was only trying to help him, all because he had assumed that he could beat her with ease. And, if his performance in the mock duel was anything to go by, he needed as much help as he could get. He might be weak now, but he could get stronger with practice.

"Apology accepted," allowed Tonks. However, her demeanor instantly transformed back to one of detached professionalism. Harry was beginning to suspect that her appearance wasn't the only thing that could shift at the drop of a hat. "Are you ready to go again?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Harry agreed.

"Good. I'm not a fan of wasting time. On my count. 3…2…1… GO!"

This time, Harry got the jump on her, sending a parade of sparks towards Tonks' vicinity. However, in his attempt to anticipate where she would dodge, he ended up not sending any sparks directly at her, so she didn't have to move at all.

Instead, she sent a geyser of sparks back at him that he somehow avoided by darting quickly to the right. There was a door that he could easily use for a strategic position if he managed to get to it. He returned fire with more crackling sparks that he aimed near her feat to keep her distracted.

Unfortunately, Tonks, anticipated his plan, and managed to jump over the sparks and dart towards the door quicker than he could. They were in close quarters now, and so she sent another volley of sparks towards him indiscriminately.

Harry managed to weave out of the way of most of them, but one managed to catch him on his right arm.

"Dammit!" Harry shouted in frustration. He had lost once again.

"Are you kidding? Harry that was brilliant," Tonks praised. "You just need to improve your dodging skills. And try to be a bit sneakier about your plan; a strategy is no good if your enemy can anticipate it. Your body language practically screamed what you were about to do. Aiming for my feet was a smart idea though. I was lucky that I managed to dodge it."

Harry listened intently this time, absorbing everything she had to say about his technique. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right.

He was going to get better, no matter the cost.

Because he wouldn't let Sirius die for nothing.

"Again!" called out Tonks. "On my count! 3…2…1…GO!"

* * *

It was a delightfully exhausted Harry that finally collapsed into his bed later that night. Tonks, true to her word, had kept at it for hours. They had practiced dozens of times, and after countless dodges, rolls, and contortions that usually ended with some body part of his connecting with the unforgiving floor, Harry's body absolutely hated him right now. However, it was worth it. He had noticed his slow but steady improvement over the course of the evening, and had been positively exultant when he finally managed to land a hit. Of course, it hit Tonks about half a second after Tonks' hit had landed on him, so it didn't really count as a win, but it gave him hope nonetheless.

The Dursleys had been predictably suspicious about his evening, but they didn't really care enough about his comings and goings to give him a full-scale interrogation. Vernon had asked how the game went, and Harry responded by telling him it went fine. However, right before he went to bed, a flash of inspiration struck him, and Harry quickly went downstairs to talk with his Uncle.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, approaching his Uncle who was engrossed in some television program.

"Hmm? What is it boy?" Vernon questioned, his beady eyes already filled with displeasure at having to look away from the program.

"Well, at the game today, the coach saw me on the sidelines and asked if I knew how to play," said Harry effortlessly. Really, it was getting much too easy for him to lie to his uncle. "I told him that I'd never really played before, but that I was a fast runner and a quick learner".

Vernon snorted, showing exactly what he thought of Harry's learning capabilities.

"Well, anyway," Harry continued, "he asked me to show him, and so I ran a few laps. He was impressed, and asked me if I wanted to join the team for the summer."

Whatever Vernon was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. He looked a little nonplussed, as if wondering what exactly Harry was getting at. "So are you asking me for money, or something? Because if there are any dues, I'm not paying them, and I'm not signing any forms either," he said contemptuously, no doubt remembering the Hogsmeade form from three summers ago.

"No, sir, I was just asking for your permission to join," Harry replied, ignoring his uncle's usual nastiness. "I can pay the dues myself, and since it's not an official league I don't need a guardian's signature. Practice is every day from 7pm to 9pm, and there's a game every week or so that sometimes starts a bit earlier or lasts a bit later. I promise, I'll keep up with my chores and everything."

"I don't know," said Vernon, clearly disagreeing with the idea of agreeing to anything Harry suggested. "I won't have you making a fool out of us to the neighbors. And your Aunt needs as much help as possible for the housework."

"Of course not, the team practices on the other side of Little Whinging, far away from anyone you'd know," said Harry, making the lie up on the spot. "I'll get my chores done every afternoon before dinner. And besides…" said Harry, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "doing 'normal' stuff will make me less bored and less likely to try doing 'other' stuff…"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" yelled Uncle Vernon, flustered at the mere hint of magical activity. His skin cycled from red to yellow and then back to normal in the span of a few seconds. Harry could see the wheels turning in his uncle's simple brain. It was no secret that the Dursleys had always wanted to 'stamp the magic' out of him with normalcy. His uncle might just be dimwitted enough to believe that it was still possible, even after all these years of Harry attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If it meant Harry was out of the house and doing something appropriately mundane that Vernon didn't have to pay for, there was no reason to deny him.

"Alright boy, you can join," Vernon grumbled with dissatisfaction. "But don't expect us to come to the games, we don't have time for that nonsense!"

"Thank you Uncle Vernon!" said Harry happily. If anything, this made his Uncle even more uncomfortable with the idea, because clearly anything that made Harry happy was a bad thing. However, with a ponderous nod, Uncle Vernon shifted his massive bulk back to face the television screen, a clear sign of dismissal.

Harry could have whooped for joy, but managed to contain himself until he was safely ensconced in his bed under the blankets, with his mouth muffled by a pillow. He had an ironclad excuse now for leaving every evening, and as long as he didn't slip up, he could meet with Tonks for the entire summer.

In all honesty, Harry thought blearily as he began to doze off, today was probably the best day he'd ever had at the Dursleys.

* * *

**A/N - Okay so a bit more action in this part. Tonks might be acting a bit odd, but remember, that also happened in cannon. And when I say 'football' I mean British football (aka soccer), not American football. Only one more chapter of Harry at the Dursleys! Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Okay do this chapter is a bit longer than usual. There will be some HarryXTonks action in this chapter, but I won't reveal whether that will actually be a pairing or not. Not trying to be mysterious, I just don't want to give away plot elements. **

* * *

Harry jumped out of his bed as if scalded. The bedsprings gave an obnoxious CREEK! of protest, but his heart was pounding too loudly in his chest for him to really hear it. Slowly, it settled down as Harry realized that it was just another nightmare. As always, his memory of the dream began to slip away, but he could not forget what it was about. Sirius. It seemed like the dreams were getting worse and worse, and he had no illusions about who he was getting them from. Voldemort probably got some sort of sick satisfaction in making him relive his godfather's death over and over again, every night, in new and creative ways.

Harry had been successfully practicing with Tonks for two weeks now, and according to her, his progress was 'astounding.' Harry personally thought that she was just trying to keep him optimistic, but accepted the compliment nevertheless. He had managed to beat her dozens of times versus the scores and scores of times she had beaten him, but progress was progress.

Still, Harry could not shake his unease over his dreams. They worked better than any alarm clock ever could, but such things couldn't be good for his mental health. He contemplated writing a letter to Dumbledore, but rejected that idea immediately. Dumbledore had other things to worry about besides his nightmares.

He then thought about his friends Ron and Hermione, who so far hadn't sent him any letters. He could easily imagine both of their reactions, since him having nightmares wasn't exactly 'news' anymore. Hermione would tell him to make more of an effort to close his mind, and Ron would not have anything to add at all, having exhausted all of his advice when Harry approached them with the same problem last year. Harry tried not to feel bitter, but he doubted that either of them could truly understand what it felt like to have Voldemort terrorizing your mind every night. Sure, it wasn't anything _new, _but that didn't make it any less disturbing.

Harry got up and pulled on some clothes, not even needing to look at the clock to know what time it was. Hedwig's cage was empty, because as Harry had suspected, both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had gotten tired of her noise and smell and had allowed him to let her out a few days ago.

Harry tried to ignore the main fixation of his thoughts, but his attempts were rather unsuccessful. His mind couldn't help but supply the knowledge of exactly _who _he would normally go to with these sorts of troubles. Sirius.

He brutally squashed the lump that threatened to form in his throat, having become quite efficient at it over the past few days. He instead refocused his train of thought to his friends, and how he ought to write to them, even if he decided not to mention his reoccurring nightmares.

His mind decided, Harry pulled out some paper and a pen from the second-hand desk the Dursleys had seen fit to grace his room with. The paper was a little old and crumbly, but it would serve its purpose well enough. Harry sat down in his bed and began to write.

_Ron,_

_How are your holidays going so far? Have Fred and George started up their joke shop yet? My relatives have been more pleasant than usual, I think the Order scared them into playing nice. I've been getting out of the house more, which is a good thing for everybody._

_I hope you guys are doing well. I just renewed by Daily Prophet subscription, against my better judgment. I suppose that some news is better than no news. Other than that, not much has been going on with me. I'll send this with Hedwig as soon as she gets back. I'm already counting down the days until I get back to Hogwarts. Only 53 more days!_

_See ya soon!_

_Harry Potter_

Harry read over the letter, and briefly debated once more whether or not he should mention his dreams. He ultimately decided against it, and began penning a near-identical letter to Hermione.

_Hermione,_

_How have your holidays been? I wish I could travel around Europe, but the Dursleys almost never take vacations, and wouldn't invite me along anyway. But, they've been nicer this summer, probably because of what the Order said to them. I'm certainly not complaining, and it's been much nicer being able to leave the house more often._

_I hope you're doing well! I haven't started my homework yet, but I'm sure I'll get around to it (eventually). I haven't gotten the Daily Prophet recently, and so I'm not quite up to date on what's been happening. Not that it ever prints anything but rubbish anyway. But I renewed my subscription, so I'll at least be reading a little bit this summer, even if it's not my textbooks (kidding!). I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts – only 53 more days!_

_Hoping you are well,_

_Harry Potter_

Glancing over both letters, Harry nodded in satisfaction. Hopefully they'd get the hint about his lack of news and would fill him in on what's been happening. He resolved to send them with Hedwig when she got back.

Harry checked the clock and saw that it was 5:50. He and Tonks ran every day at 6, so he didn't have much time to eat breakfast. He quickly padded downstairs, his movements practically silent from a week of navigating the same route down the steps. Harry grabbed a glass and chugged down some nauseating fruit and vegetable juice mixture that Aunt Petunia was fond of before washing the glass off in the sink. His stomach would be grumbling later, but it wasn't like he was a stranger to hunger.

He slipped outside, and peered intensely around the yard.

It had become somewhat of a game to see if Harry could spot Tonks before she could sneak up on him, one he was determined to win…eventually.

Harry saw in his periphery vision the slight rustling of one of Aunt Petunia's rose bushes near the side of the house. It was probably the wind, but Harry went to investigate anyway. As he reached out to feel around the bush, a hand curled around his mouth, muffling his surprised gasp.

"Wotcher!" laughed Tonks. Harry spun around and out of her grasp, scowling, but she just snickered.

From her current mannerisms, Harry assumed that she was going to be in one of her good moods today. Over the last two weeks, Harry had seen Tonks yoyo from what he liked to think of as 'normal' Tonks to what he considered 'manic-depressive' Tonks. He knew something was really bothering her, but she had been tight lipped whenever he tried to ask her about it.

"Urgh, one of these days Tonks…" Harry muttered, but the effect was ruined when Tonks simply kept smiling and reached out to ruffle his hair, an action that Harry barely managed to dodge.

"Awww, is poor Harry sad he couldn't find the big bad auror?" she joked. Harry merely laughed in return. He had gotten used to her sense of humor by now, and didn't really take offense.

"It'd be easier if she wasn't playing hard to get," he teased back. Tonks merely snorted in response, and began stuffing her invisibility cloak into her pocket. Her hair was still a lackluster brown, but her eyes and face were cheerful today. Harry's eyes began to creep a little lower than her face, and noticed that for once she was wearing a V-neck instead of her usual T-shirt. He couldn't help but admire the way it stretched across her well-endowed chest. Realizing he was ogling her, Harry quickly snapped his gaze back up, and was relieved to find that she hadn't noticed anything amiss.

"Alright, let's get going. It's been an absolute mess at the Ministry, and I need to go in as soon as possible. Have you gotten your first Daily Prophet yet?" she asked as they began jogging in tandem down the sidewalk. Harry preferring a faster pace, but he knew that Tonks liked to have some time to warm-up.

"Not yet, I'll probably get it tomorrow. Thanks for helping me renew my subscription by the way," Harry said while unobtrusively quickening the pace. It was agreed upon that while Tonks set the pace for the practicing, Harry set the pace for the running.

"Not a problem. But blimey, that means… you don't know, do you?" Tonks asked, her words a bit choppy. Even though they had been at it for two weeks, she still got short of breath rather quickly.

"Know what?" asked Harry anxiously. With the war going on, any news was bad news.

"Amelia Bones is dead," Tonks said shortly. "They found her body a few block away from the Ministry. Huge scandal. Bad business. Think Voldemort did it himself."

Harry said nothing, but looked away in contemplation. He remembered Amelia Bones from his farce of a trial at the Ministry. She had been one of the fair ones, if a bit stern, and had made sure she found out the truth rather than falling into line with the politicians. He didn't really know her that well, but he had sensed that she was a good person. Harry wondered how Susan was taking the news.

The two of them ran in companionable silence, the _thwack thwack thwack_ of their shoes and the _huff huff huff_ of their breaths the only noise besides the morning trills of the birds. Although neither of them were truly tired yet, they were running too fast to try to keep up a conversation. Harry lost himself in his musings, trusting himself to know the way instinctively. The light stirrings of a breeze ghosted along his sweaty limbs, allowing for a rather pleasant run. Before he knew it, they were halfway through their loop around Little Whinging, and the first rays of sunlight began peeking out from behind the shingled suburban rooftops.

Harry thoughts returned to the news of Madame Bones, and the abruptness of her death. Harry might have been stuck with his relatives, but Voldemort wasn't going to put the war on hold just because it was summer vacation. He was doing his best to demoralize and frighten the country, and it only made sense for him to start by eliminating key figureheads in the Ministry. Tonks had explained to him how Fudge was on the way out, leaving Amelia Bones and a man named Rufus Scrimgeour as the most likely successors. The general consensus (according to Tonks) was that Bones was much more supportive of Dumbledore's cause, whereas Scrimgeour viewed Dumbledore with poorly veiled suspicion and contempt. By killing Madam Bones, Voldemort had in effect planted a wedge between the Order and the Ministry. Together, the two would've had a better chance of resisting him, but separated and plagued by mutual mistrust, it'd be easy for Voldemort to tackle them individually. Harry shuddered involuntarily. It was brilliant, really, how much Voldemort had accomplished with one strategic death. He had divided his enemies, removed a powerful opponent, made the Ministry look weak, and had struck fear into the hearts of the populace.

Harry mind wandered unbidden to Susan Bones, and the grief the entire Bones family must be feeling right now. To them, Madam Bones' death wouldn't be a news story to be forgotten about in a few weeks – they would carry that sorrow with them forever. Harry himself knew what it was like to lose someone, and even now, thoughts of Sirius still filled him with anguish. To Voldemort, death wasn't a family torn apart, it wasn't countless sleepless nights, it wasn't a grieving niece or godson – it was just a means to an end.

Harry could practically feel his mood darken, and so responded to it the best way he knew how – he quickened the pace to a flat-out sprint.

Tonks kept up valiantly for several blocks, but was soon panting and gasping beside him. He slowly began to pull ahead of her, but kept up the pace, knowing that her sense of competitiveness would kick in and make her run faster if she fell too far behind. Harry himself was already sweating profusely, and his limbs were aching in protest.

They were nearing Harry's neighborhood, but Tonks continued to fall behind. When he could no longer hear the sound of her trainers hitting the pavement, Harry turned his head around, and was greeted with a sight that hit upon some carnal part of his nature.

Tonks' arms were pumping wildly, causing her breasts to bounce up and down and her chest to heave in rapid motion. Her shorts had crept up her thighs, and her skin was shining with a fresh layer of sweat. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was wildly mussed and stuck to her neck and face in some places.

Harry felt a surge of warmth go through him, and when her eyes met his, he whipped his head back around. As silly as it sounded, he had never really considered Tonks as a female, or a sexual female at that. But now, the proof of his attraction was staring him in the face, and in…other areas. He slowed his pace to a normal run, and Tonks quickly caught up with him. He gave her a wayward glance, but she kept her eyes locked on the pavement in front of her.

He didn't say anything, and soon the two were making their way along Magnolia Crescent. Harry slowed the pace back down to a jog, since Privet Drive was just two streets up ahead. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Tonks let out an indistinguishable noise of relief when they finally turned onto Harry's street. They stopped a few houses down from #4, and took a few minutes to collect themselves and catch their breaths.

Tonks had bent over and had her hands on her knees, unknowingly giving Harry a great view of her cleavage. Harry couldn't help but stare, and wondered how in the world he could have overlooked Tonks' attractiveness for so long. After long moments of uninterrupted staring, Harry began to feel like a bit of a creep, and so forced himself to look away.

He felt dishonest, and pondered the idea of making a move. After all, she had been giving him signs, hadn't she? Was she flirting with him earlier? He didn't know, and understanding women was far beyond his expertise. Sure, he might have kissed Cho, but attempting something with Tonks was on a whole other level. They had grown quite close over these past few weeks, and Harry had no intention of jeopardizing that friendship.

Tonks was still bent over, breathing deeply, and Harry felt a sudden urge to make sure she was alright. He moved towards her and went to put his arm around her shoulders, but she suddenly stood up, bashing the side of her head against his nose.

"OWWW!" Harry cried out, staggering back in pain. He cupped his hands over his nose, which began to bleed profusely.

"Oh bollocks! Harry I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" she asked frantically, instinctively reaching for her wand.

"I'm bine! I'm bine!" Harry managed to get out through a mouthful of blood. Tonks did not look too sure, and she began looking around nervously. Sure enough, the curtains opened in #6, and Harry saw the snooping gaze of Mrs. What's-Her-Name peering out into the street. Tonks hastily stowed away her wand, and started leading Harry to his house.

Once they were out front, Tonks, slowly pried one of Harry's hands away from his nose, and saw that the blood had already started to thicken and congeal. She inspected it closely, and finally let out a breath of relief.

"Ok, I don't think it's broken. Just keep strong pressure on it for five minutes and it should stop bleeding," she diagnosed.

Harry, for one, was not so sure, but nodded all the same. He was glad that in the commotion, she had forgotten to be curious about why he had gotten so close to her in the first place.

Tonks looked at her wristwatch, and then asked "Hey, you said your aunt wakes up at 7:30, right?"

"Yeah, thad's ben she bakes me up," Harry responded. The blood had slowed down to a small drizzle, but his nose was still clogged.

"Whew, alright. Well then I guess it's time to see how skilled you are at evasive maneuvering. It's 7:22," informed Tonks.

Harry groaned. He'd somehow have to sneak into the bathroom, wash off his face, and then get back in bed without Aunt Petunia hearing or seeing him. In eight minutes.

Tonks had the grace to look sheepish. "So, err… you should probably get going, yeah?" she suggested, sparing another glance at her watch.

She was right, of course, but Harry was paralyzed by some insane compulsion. He wanted to compliment her, reassure her it wasn't her fault, or just make some sort of witty remark in general. But, as he opened his mouth, the metallic taste of blood clogged his throat, and he closed it again rapidly.

Tonks stared at him strangely, probably wondering why he was standing here opening his mouth like a fish instead of heading inside.

Harry's courage left him, and instead of saying anything flirty or witty, he managed to mumble "I'll see you dater," before rushing inside.

Harry felt his face flush red in embarrassment, and was glad that he as safely inside where Tonks couldn't see him.

He was mad, barking mad. He hadn't even thought of Tonks in that way before today, and now he wanted to…what? Ask her out on a date? Confess his undying love? He shook his head, deciding to declare the entire episode a bout of temporary insanity induced by a perfect pair of sweaty breasts.

He heard steps upstairs, and shook himself out of his stupor. If he wanted to have any chance of not getting caught, he had to act, now. Harry took the stairs by twos, and managed to dart into the bathroom right as he saw Aunt Petunia's door opening. He heard her walk around the landing and then head downstairs, presumably to get her cleaning supplies. Harry quickly turned on the faucet and wiped off the blood that was caked around his nose. It ran in tiny rivulets into the sink, with larger pieces flaking off and swirling down the drain. His nose had stopped bleeding, a miraculous feat that he attributed to luck or accidental magic, and one that he certainly wasn't going to complain about. After quickly glancing at his face in the mirror and not seeing any blood, he sprinted into his room just as he heard Aunt Petunia walking back up the stairs.

He tore off his clothes and tossed them into a heap before picking up his pajamas. He had just managed to pull on his pants when he heard a sharp _rap _on the door.

"Is that you in there making all that ruckus?" demanded Aunt Petunia. Without waiting for a response, she opened the door, only to see Harry half-naked in his pajama bottoms.

"Close the door!" Harry shouted indignantly. Honestly, he couldn't care less what his Aunt saw of him, but he'd prefer to keep some level of modesty. His aunt was probably mortified right now.

She closed the door as if stricken, and shrilly called out "Downstairs! Two minutes!" before rapidly retreating back down the stairs.

Harry sighed in relief. That had been too close. Knowing not to press his luck, Harry pulled down his pajama bottoms and changed into a new outfit that didn't reek of sweat and blood. They were old cast-offs of Dudley's, but they didn't swamp him like they used too.

Somehow, he had a feeling that his list of chores was going to be much longer today than usual.

* * *

Harry ate his lunch with gusto, polishing off two turkey sandwiches before reaching for a third. Aunt Petunia's lips pursed in distaste, but she didn't say anything, the Order's warning clearly still fresh in her mind. His relatives had lost the courage to try to deny him food, a fact that he had been taking full advantage of.

It had been a week since he had 'not' realized he was attracted to Tonks and 'not' broken his nose, and Harry had never felt better. His nightmares had somehow stopped, and instead were replaced with dreams of an entirely different sort, making his mornings much more pleasant. He still woke up anytime between 5 and 5:30am, but he figured that his body had simply gotten used to it. He had continued to run and practice with Tonks without complications, and had not had a repeat performance of his previous insanity. Of course, he still eyeballed Tonks whenever he could, but she was a woman. If he wanted to have any chance, he had to act like a man, and not like some hormonal teenaged boy.

Harry chewed on his sandwich, his mind wandering to the two letters that were up in his room. Both Ron and Hermione had been incredibly vague in their letters, and Harry supposed that he really shouldn't be surprised. They did both manage to leak him useful nuggets of information, but that only made him desperate to know more.

Ron had informed him that his parents had gotten Dumbledore's permission to bring him to the Burrow two weeks before school started. Harry had grimaced at that, wondering why they needed Dumbledore's permission at all, until his mind had once again reminded him that there was a war going on, and that 'The Chosen One' was an important player.

Hermione, on the other hand, had conveyed to him a critical message – his post was being watched by the Ministry. Both she and Ron had been expressly ordered to not communicate anything to him about the war so that the Ministry wouldn't have knowledge about the Order's plans. That little kernel of knowledge was perhaps the most infuriating news of all, and Harry had barely kept his anger in check. According to The Daily Prophet, Rufus Scrimgeour had been elected Minister of Magic three days ago, and he was clearly not going to be an ally that the Order could count on.

Harry finished off the sandwich and cleared his plate. There were dishes in the sink, and Harry absently began to do them without even needing to be told. Aunt Petunia had been surprisingly lenient with his chores today, and he had already finished up everything he needed to do. He figured there was no harm in buttering her up a little bit.

Sure enough, when she walked into the kitchen carrying Vernon and Dudley's plates, she looked startled to see Harry being willingly helpful and obedient. She gave a neutral sniff, set the plates down on the counter next to him, and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

That was about as close as Aunt Petunia ever got to saying 'thank you."

Once he was done, Harry went up to his room and closed the door. He faced an entire afternoon of having nothing to do, and figured it was time to start his homework. Of course, it was only three weeks into his summer holidays, but the idea of reviewing something magical was too appealing to him to pass up.

However, when he loosened the floorboard underneath his bed to pull out his textbooks, the first thing he saw was the tattered old book he had bought on a whim in Diagon Alley. He had forgotten all about it.

Intrigued, Harry pulled it out and replaced the floorboard before sitting down in his bed. He wasn't sure it was entirely sanitary to bring it under the covers, and so chanced reading it in plain sight. His aunt hadn't opened his door since she had walked in on him, and so he doubted she would do it again anytime soon.

The title read "What Your Hogwarts Teachers Never Taught You," and there was no description or table of contents of any kind. Sighing, Harry figured he might as well start at the beginning, and flipped it open to the first page. There was no preface, preamble, or anything, and instead, the book started right off.

_**Hormones affect magic. Hormones lead to an increase of turbulent emotions, which in turn increase the instability of magical performance. However, after puberty, witches and wizards experience an increase in magical ability and control. This increase in power is due to their hormone levels finally leveling out, allowing them to be emotionally mature enough to handle more volatile magics, and mentally mature enough to fully comprehend certain facets of magical theory. This is why OWLS are done in 5**__**th**__** year. Before, they were done in 4**__**th **__**year, but there was a highly acclaimed study which showed that males significantly underperformed females. The study explained that the average wizard passes through puberty around the age of 14 or 15, while the average witch passes through puberty around the age of 12 or 13, and the different ages of maturation were the cause of the discrepancy. Of course, there were certain exceptions to the trend, but the findings were conclusive enough for the Board of Governors to unanimously pass a decree that moved OWLS back into 5**__**th**__** year.**_

Whatever Harry was expecting to read, it certainly wasn't that. It was interesting, but a little odd. It was the sort of thing that Hermione would find fascinating, but that he had little interest in. Still, he figured he'd give the book a shot, and kept reading onto the next section.

_**Pureblooded couples flocked to Great Britain during the early 1800's during the conquest of Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon argued for a populist view that made him very popular with the people, but threatened the power of the aristocratic purebloods. Napoleon was born a squib and thus knew of the magical world, and when all of Europe began falling under French rule, wizarding society feared that they would be revealed to the muggles. Great Britain represented the last bastion of power against Napoleon in the west, and British wizarding society was one of the most prosperous of that time. Therefore, there was a huge influx of pureblooded wizards and witches, particularly those of French descent. **_

_**Hogwarts was well known as a prestigious institution of learning, and so when these pureblood refugees arrived, they sent their children to Hogwarts. This gave rise to a period in history where Hogwarts was largely considered 'elitist,' because the new French purebloods quickly obtained disproportionate power and influence in both the Ministry and the Board of Governors, and passed laws and regulations favoring pureblooded students. Muggleborns, who have historically represented anywhere from 20-25% of the Hogwarts student body, soon found themselves in an even smaller minority of 5-10%. The image of Hogwarts as an elitist school, along with the growing mood of prejudice and segregation, made most muggleborns feel like outsiders, and most were worried about finding security and friendships. As a result, the Sorting Hat largely put them into Hufflepuff, where they would find kindness, loyalty, and friendship. Due to pureblood supremacy ideals, this gave rise to the stereotype that Hufflepuff House was somehow the worst house, whereas before, no such stereotype existed.**_

Harry was actually surprised. He knew next to nothing about wizarding history due to the abysmal quality of his History of Magic class, and so had never heard of any of this. If this was true, he wondered if Hagrid knew that when he called Hufflepuffs "duffers" he was espousing a prejudice promoted by blood supremacists. He silently vowed to never make fun of Hufflepuffs again. Harry flipped the page, and saw that this next section was the largest by far. He started reading, wondering what he'd learn next.

_**Magic has two main types – intrinsic and extrinsic. Intrinsic spells affect the focus of the spell immediately (Ex – Transfiguration, Charms), whereas extrinsic spells manifest in a 'bolt' which must come into contact with the focus of the spell (EX – Hexes, Jinxes, Battle Magic, Dark Arts). Intrinsic spells were historically considered 'purer' because they had a symbiotic relationship with their focus, and there was no lapse of time between the incantation and the effect. Extrinsic spells were considered 'impure' spells because they were often parasitic or corrupting to their focus, and they required a lapse of time to take effect. Also, even if the spell was successfully performed, there was the chance of the effect not occurring due to the need for a physical connection between the spell and the focus. Over time, the bias for 'pure' spells over 'impure' spells eventually began to correlate with the woefully cliché and myopic stereotypes of 'light' and 'dark,' which are historically incorrect. **_

_**Because extrinsic spells are so much easier to create, there are many more of them than intrinsic spells. There was extensive research into the field of transfiguration in the 1750's by the noted alchemist Nicholas Flamel which significantly broadened the scope of the discipline and the quantity of transfiguration spells, and lessened the gap somewhat between the quantity of extrinsic vs. intrinsic spells, but the imbalance still remains.**_

_**There have been countless numbers of self-created extrinsic spells that were never formally written down, but oftentimes pureblooded families kept a grimoire of all the family spells. This practice gave pureblooded witches and wizards a significant advantage because they learned spells that nobody else had heard of. There was the Great Era of Espionage, in which the pureblooded houses attempted to steal and learn the spells of all of the other houses, almost leading to an international wizarding war. Grimoires, or collections of spells passed down from generation to generation, have faded of late, largely due to the Ministry Decree of 1923 that declared all self-created spells illegal until they were submitted and approved by the Ministry of Magic. This was done in part to help equalize the levels of magical knowledge between muggleborns and purebloods. As a result, Hogwarts stopped teaching spell creation as an elective, and began to focus more exclusively on intrinsic spells. It was traditional for a family grimoire to go to Hogwarts when the last living decedent of a pureblooded family died, but after the ministerial decree, all grimoires were removed from the Hogwarts library. It was believed that Hogwarts had collected 23 by that time. **_

_**However, the removal of the grimoires and spell creation was not a significant loss to the curriculum. Hogwarts has always focused more on intrinsic spells because they are held as fundamental building blocks of magical knowledge. While extrinsic spells can be cast based on intent, correct pronunciation, and correct wand-work, intrinsic spells require a certain level of understanding of the magical theory behind them. Therefore, Hogwarts found it more prudent to teach the harder-to-learn spells so as to give young witches and wizards a firmer understanding of magic. This is what distinguished Hogwarts from other European schools, like Durmstrang, that focused on battle magic, which is wholly extrinsic. **_

_**Examples of intrinsic magic include most charms. For instance, one can cast Wingardium Leviosa on any number of inanimate objects, and there is no need for a 'bolt' to hit the object for it to levitate. As soon as one (successfully) casts the spell, the focus of the spell will begin to levitate. The same applies for the charm Aguamenti, in which water is produced from one's wand instantaneously. The summoning charm also needs no literal connection between the spell and the object, and an object can be summoned from up to a mile away with absolutely no 'bolt' or contact between the spell and the object of the spell.**_

_**In contrast, extrinsic spells absolutely have to have some sort of literal contact with a physical manifestation of a spell in order for them to have any effect. The stunning spell does not automatically stun a person, but rather, a red bolt of light is fired from the wand and must come into contact with a person in order to stun him or her. With extrinsic spells, it is possible for the spell to take effect on a focus other than the intended one, because the effects of the spell are solely dependent on physical contact with a focus. The Confringo spell is another example of an extrinsic spell, and has a yellow streak of light that causes something to explode into flames on contact. Without contact, the focus of the spell does not catch fire, and it is once again possible for something or someone other than the focus of the spell to suffer the effects. The Cheering charm, while called a charm, is actually a jinx, because it alters one's state of emotions (to happiness), similar to the Confundus jinx (to confusion).**_

Harry mind was swirling, slowly processing this new knowledge. He felt a strong impulse to bang his head against the wall. Of course! How had he never noticed this before? He and Tonks had been sending sparks at each other to mimic dueling, but he knew very well that most spells taught at Hogwarts didn't produce a bolt. In fact, now that he thought about it, the vast majority of spells that did produce a bolt usually did something to a human. Why weren't there any intrinsic spells that applied to humans?

Harry remembered Hermione's complaint last year about the complications involved in using Arithmancy and Ancient Runes to identify a person. Maybe that had something to do with it. Harry made a note to ask her once he got back to Hogwarts.

Harry looked at his clock and saw that it was tie for dinner. He made his way downstairs, the smell of a roast wafting deliciously in the air. Aunt Petunia wasn't the best cook, but every English housewife worth her salt knew how to make a proper roast.

Dinner was a predictably mundane affair, and Harry helped himself to double portions of everything. He had grown an inch since the start of summer, and his muscles had started to harden ever so slightly.

Vernon and Petunia carried on some inane conversation about the new car Mr. What's-His-Face had bought that Harry paid no attention to. Dudley didn't join the conversation either, but the joy of eating copious amounts of food was more than enough to keep him entertained. He kept giving Harry odd looks, but Harry had stopped caring what his cousin thought or did a long time ago.

Harry asked to be excused, and when Aunt Petunia gave him a stiff nod he went and grabbed his 'bag' from the cupboard under the stairs. He had bought a football and some cleats from a local sporting store just to keep up appearances, and made a show of grabbing it every night.

Soon Harry was padding down the streets to what he now thought of as the 'practice house.' A while back, Tonks had insisted on arriving to the house separately so as to draw less suspicious. It also served the dual purpose of allowing her to set up the training area before he arrived. She added furniture a while back so as to make the house a more dynamic environment, and dug countless gouges and pot holes in the back yard to make footwork more treacherous.

When Harry arrived at the house he leisurely walked inside. They had been practicing here for three weeks, and true to Tonks' word, they had never seen another person anywhere near the area.

Harry looked around the house, but when he failed to find any evidence of Tonks, he headed into the back yard. It was night time, and Harry could barely make out anything under the dark purple sky. But, after giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust, he could semi-make-out Tonks' form sitting on the ground with her back facing him. All throughout the yard were thick, piney hedges that were as tall as Harry's shoulders. She had certainly been busy today.

Harry went to approach her, but after a few steps, a devious idea came to mind. There she was, facing away from him, and likely completely unaware of his presence. This could be his chance to pay her back for all the times she had gotten the drop on him.

Harry drew his wand predatorily. There was almost no chance of missing.

Tonks remained totally still and silent. She must've been really deep in thought.

Quick as a flash, Harry sent an avalanche of sparks towards her sitting form, grinning victoriously at his success.

The sparks splashed harmlessly across her back, but instead of turning around and yelling at him, Tonks didn't move an inch.

That was odd, what in the world could Tonks be doing that she didn't even care about sparks hitting her?

Harry was still trying to puzzle it out when suddenly, a torrent of sparks cascaded over him, so many that he had to close his eyes and cover his face. Even still, his eyes danced with black spots, and his eyes watered from the intensity of the sudden light.

"Wotcher, Harry!" came a voice from behind him, and Harry let out a shameless groan of frustration.

He turned around and saw a madly grinning Tonks standing by the back entrance to the house.

"Dammit, how did you do that?" demanded Harry, turning around again and seeing that 'Tonks' was still sitting by the hedges.

"Simple. I made it so you would see what you wanted to see," she said, her tone indicating that this was a lesson. "I was standing right here the entire time, you walked right past me actually. That," she gestured towards the other Tonks, "Is a dummy."

Harry walked towards it, and from about ten feet away, he could clearly see that it was indeed a stuffed imitation of Tonks (and a poor one at that).

Harry felt frustrated, but knew that such reactions were childish and ultimately served no useful purpose.

So instead, Harry smiled wickedly and replied, "Tonks, you have a blow-up doll of yourself? Kinky."

"Harry James Potter!" she shrieked, lunging towards him and swatting him angrily upside the head. He could have dodged, if he really wanted too, but he figured he deserved that one.

"Ow, geroff me! Unless this is your idea of foreplay, in which case…" Harry said lecherously, earning himself another smack. He probably deserved that one too.

"Enough wasting time," said Tonks, transforming into teacher mode.

Harry recognized the change, and composed himself accordingly.

"Now, you've been getting better Harry, a lot better. I reckon you'll be as good as me by the end of the summer," she praised, and Harry felt his ego swell a little bit. "Our practicing has made you better at dueling strategy, evasive maneuvering, and aiming. This hedge combines aspects of all three. The evenings have been getting progressively darker, which helps you get used to fighting in the dark. It's been three weeks since you started, and I cannot explain to you how proud I am of your progress."

Harry felt his ego swell a lot.

"But," she continued, "The dummy test today showed me that you've gotten too comfortable with our routine. All of this training is useless if you can't anticipate a trap. As Mad-Eye would say, _Constant Vigilance! _From now on, even approaching the house, act like you're approaching hostile territory. We won't talk, chat, or count to three before we start to practice. We'll act like we're actually enemy combatants engaging in combat. Do you understand?"

Harry had to admit that it made sense. He _had _become comfortable with their routine, and in doing so, he had gotten sloppy.

"Of course, I understand," Harry said honestly.

"Good. This new plan will not only teach you to stay alert, it'll show you how to scope out a building for enemy combatants and how to take down those combatants before they have a chance to take _you _down. But of course, no matter how much we do, you're still going to be limited," admitted Tonks.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in confusion. What did she mean by 'limited'?

"Harry, you're forgetting one key thing. We're not using magic," explained Tonks wearily. "Magic changes everything. What you can do with sparks isn't the same as what you can do with spells. Spells can affect the environment, reveal someone's presence, mask your movements, mask your enemy's movements, and countless other variables that there are simply no ways to compensate for. I'm teaching you the bare-bones basics of dueling. Point and shoot before the other guy can shoot you. What we're doing will help your dueling technique, but it isn't your technique itself."

Harry, whose ego had been fit to burst, was now deflating like a wet balloon. He understood what she was saying, and that was the scary thing. Spells, chains of spells, counters to spells, reacting to spells, knowing which spell to use on what, knowing when to use each spell; spells good in some environments and not others, spells good against certain types of duelers and not others, spells good against clusters of enemies versus a large group of enemies; spells spells spells. Dueling was based on spells. What good was knowing how to navigate around a hedge if someone could blast a hole through it, set it on fire, transfigure it into a flock of birds, or any number of other things?

"Oh no, I know that look!" said Tonks, interrupting his internal dialogue. "It means you're getting frustrated and angry, and are about to start ranting with some emotional outburst**. **Am I right?"

She was accurate enough to make Harry pause and refrain from yelling about how pointless the whole thing was. Again.

"That's exactly what I thought. Well, don't you dare," she all but ordered him. "As I said, there are a ton of benefits to practicing. I'm not going to go over them again, since I'm sure you can stretch your memory as far back as two minutes ago. What I'm trying to say is that practicing helps, but don't expect to get to Hogwarts and be able to out-duel everybody. You're going to have to start learning spells and start dueling with people if you really want to get better. However, when you develop your dueling style, what I'm teaching you now will be invaluable once you manage to integrate it into that style. "

"So you're saying I should duel people at Hogwarts?" asked Harry, slowly realizing what she was trying to say.

"Absolutely. Preferably multiple people," Tonks agreed. "As long as they're your friends and agree to do it away from the eyes of teachers, you shouldn't have a problem. The only way for you or anybody else to get better at dueling is to duel, as often and as strenuously as possible."

Dueling wasn't allowed at Hogwarts outside of the classroom, but that had never stopped Harry before. Now that he had been practicing with Tonks for so long, he didn't think he could just stop when he got to Hogwarts. For one, he actually enjoyed it, but more importantly, Voldemort was still out there.

"Alright, enough talking, let's get this show on the road," said Tonks, who promptly ran and crouched behind a nearby hedge. Harry was perplexed for a second before he realized what she had said earlier. There was no more counting to three. Instead of following her, he made his way to the other side of the yard and behind another hedge. It was dark outside now, and the only sources of light were the streetlamp by the front of the house and a thin crescent moon. Harry could barely make out the hedges around him, much less try to see Tonks. Who may or may not have been under her invisibility cloak.

Harry knew Tonks, and knew that she would try to wait for him to blunder across her path rather than try to seek him out. But, he also knew that she was impatient, and if enough time went by, she'd start looking for him. Feeling risky, he decided to sit down and hope she would stumble across _his _path.

After a few minutes of doing nothing, Harry's eyes had become accustomed to the dark. As he peeked around the hedge, he anxiously realized that if he could see, so could Tonks. Deciding his plan was a failure since there'd be no way for her to walk by him without seeing him, he got up and dusted the dirt off of his pants. So much for that idea.

Harry began creeping around the hedge and quickly darted to a new one. They were planted randomly, but once again, Tonks had the advantage of knowing the layout. Harry was in a bind, and couldn't figure out what to do next. As he stood there thinking, he saw a line of sparks heading towards him, and dashed behind another hedge. Tonks knew where he was. The sparks had come from behind him, and in front of him was the house. Suddenly, he had an idea. It was crazy, but it was crazy enough that it might actually work.

Without waiting, Harry sprinted towards the house. Tonks probably expected him to be prowling through the hedges, and wouldn't have a clear line of sight towards the house anyway.

When he got to the back door, he quickly jumped and used the two inch ledge of back window to propel himself further upward. His fingers barely manage to latch on to an awning, and he hung there swinging like a sitting duck.

With colossal effort, Harry managed to get both of his hands onto the awning, and then heaved himself up until he was hanging by his elbows. From there, it was easy to climb up the rest of the way, and with shaky arms, Harry found himself standing on the roof.

He looked out over the hedge, and saw Tonks' disembodied hand and wand floating along the edge. She hadn't seen him, and was slowly searching through the hedges. In a few moments, she'd wander to the hedge nearest to the house, and would be close enough to take a shot at.

Harry waited with anticipation, his wand poised and his arm tense.

Finally, after what felt like hours (but was really only a few minutes), she walked close enough to be in range.

Harry wasted no time, and immediately sent a slew of bright crackling sparks at her. It was so dark that she noticed the sparks instantly, but Harry had sent so many sparks but there was nowhere for her to go. She tried to dodge, but the invisibility cloak limited her movement and half of the sparks ended up hitting her anyway.

Harry had won the first session of the night! That had never happened before, and Harry didn't even try to contain his whoop of joy.

Tonks followed the sound of his voice, and when she noticed his location, she whipped off her cloak and approached him.

"Harry! How in the world did you get on the roof?" she asked in amazement.

"I climbed up," Harry replied simply.

"Bloody hell, I would have never even _thought _of that! Well done, Harry, well done!" she congratulated sincerely.

Suddenly, the two of them heard the front gate slam. Bewildered, Harry turned around, and saw a bulky figure galloping down the street.

That wasn't good at all.

Harry started into action, and quickly ran across the roof and jumped down into the front yard. He vaguely heard Tonks calling out something, but he was too far away to hear her. He started sprinting towards the figure, who had just now reached the end of the cul-de-sac. Harry pumped his arms and ran like he had never ran in his life. Whoever it was had seen them, had seen magic, and there was no way that Harry was going to let him get away.

Harry gained ground quickly, and it was clear that the person was not much of a runner. Soon, Harry was close enough to recognize the blonde hair of his cousin Dudley.

"Dudley, stop!" Harry called out, but his cousin kept running frantically. After a few more seconds, Harry was almost on top of him, and so did the only thing he could think of – he tackled him to the ground.

He and Dudley scuffled on the ground for a few seconds, earning them both a hefty collection of bruises, before Harry yelled out "ENOUGH!" and detached himself from his cousin. Dudley finally stilled, but his eyes were wild. He looked scared out of his wits, and it was with mild guilt that Harry stood up and slowly pulled out his wand, pointing it at Dudley's face.

Dudley immediately began to tremble, but nevertheless jumped to his feet. "You'll be expelled now, for sure! I saw what you did back there! You haven't been playing football at all, have you? Your freak show government will arrest you and you'll be out of our hair for good! I'm telling Mum and Dad," he said, keeping his eyes locked on the wand.

"If you saw what I did, you know that I'm not afraid to use magic right now," Harry hissed viciously. Dudley gulped. "I have permission to use magic outside of school now, so if you breathe one word of this to your parents, I'll hex you into next week!"

Dudley's jaw quivered, and his face turned an alarming shade of white when Harry's wand spat out a few red sparks. His eyes became absolutely feral, and without warning, his fist was sailing through the air and connecting with Harry's face.

Harry was stunned, literally. His vision swam, and for a few moments, his mind was a pleasant buzz of white noise. However, when he came to, he saw that Dudley was once again running down the street, even slower than last time. Really, Harry would barely call that a jog.

Harry rubbed his jaw angrily, and once again started running towards his cousin. He should have known that Dudley would try to follow him, and when confronted, would react with physical violence. Boxing had made him confident in his own abilities, and therefore much less intimidated by Harry's threat of magic.

When Harry caught up with him for the second time, he tried a different tactic.

"Hey Big D! Wait up!" Harry called out.

Confused, Dudley turned around, and when he saw it was Harry his face contorted into a mixture of fear and anger.

"Don't come near me or I'll punch you again!" Dudley threatened, cracking his knuckles.

Harry was silent for a moment, wondering how exactly he was going to handle this situation. If he did nothing, Dudley would tell his aunt and uncle and he'd be locked up for the rest of the summer. Threatening to use magic didn't seem to work on Dudley anymore, and if he actually jinxed Dudley, he'd be expelled quicker than you could say 'unfair.' As his jaw throbbed in pain, he had a sudden burst of inspiration.

"But Dudley, that's exactly what I want," Harry said. "I want you to punch me. I can see you have a mean right hook. If you'd be willing, I'd want to start boxing with you."

Dudley was clearly mystified by what Harry had said, so Harry took the liberty of repeating himself more slowly.

"Do you want to practice boxing with me?" Harry said, enunciating every word.

It seemed to help, but not by much.

"What do you mean?" Dudley managed to ask, his hand still curled up in a fist.

"I want to learn how to fight. You're a good boxer. Ergo, I want to box with you," Harry repeated, wondering how many times they'd need to go over this before Dudley finally understood.

"But… why would you want to practice boxing?" Dudley asked again. He seemed to be finally calming down.

"Because I want to know how to fist fight. Remember those things from last summer, the things that I saved you from?" Harry inquired, knowing full well that wasn't something anyone would be likely to forget.

Indeed, Dudley gave an involuntary shudder. He made a grimace, clearly not liking to be reminded that Harry had actually helped him one time.

"Yeah. You can fight those off?" Dudley questioned, clearly wondering where this is going.

"No, not with fists" Harry admitted, "But there are people, evil people, that would release those things everywhere if they could. What you saw earlier was me practicing so I can try to stop those people. If you tell your parents what I've been doing, I'll have to stop, and I need to keep training. Fist fighting, while I might not ever use it, might also give me an edge against them when they least expect it."

Dudley looked torn. This was clearly too much information for his mind to process, and he didn't look happy about being forced to actually think about things.

"So what? Why should I help you?" Dudley finally asked, getting to the crux of the matter.

"Because you'll get to beat me up on a daily basis, and I'll consider us even for me saving your life," Harry explained.

Dudley still looked puzzled. It was almost eerie, how similar he and Uncle Vernon were in their thought processes. He didn't like Harry, and snitching on him to his parents would no doubt land him in a boat load of trouble. But, he owed Harry for what he did last summer. If he managed to remove that debt while improving his own technique and hurting Harry in the process, it seemed like the benefits outweighed the cons.

"Alright, I'll help you box. I've been looking for a partner anyway, and Dad's not in good enough shape to help. But I'm not going to go easy on you, and you're going to have to do whatever I say!" said Dudley imperiously.

Harry almost groaned. He could see _some _benefits to fist fighting, sure, but it wouldn't give him a significant advantage, considering most duels were done at a distance of ten meters or more. It had a slim chance of helping him against Voldemort, would take up a colossal amount of time, and would force him to actually interact with his cousin. But the die had already been cast, and now there was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and accept it. He doubted that Dudley would agree to hold his tongue for any other reason.

"Alright, brilliant," Harry said, doing his best not to sound morose. "So you won't say anything to your parents about what I've been doing?"

"Nope. After all, if you're grounded, we can't exactly spar together," Dudley said, showing a surprising amount of logic that Harry did not think him capable of.

"Great. Well hey, I need to be getting back…" began Harry, but trailed off when he heard footsteps rapidly approaching them. He turned around and saw Tonks hurrying towards them. Dudley looked taken aback, and glared at Tonks warily.

"Hey Harry. Christ, you run fast! Didn't you hear me calling you? I brought your bag, you left it at the house. Anyway, what's going on?" she questioned hastily, glancing at Dudley with curiosity and shoving Harry's football bag into his arms.

"Nothing, we just had a misunderstanding is all," Harry replied smoothly. "Everything has been resolved. Tonks, you've met my cousin Dudley before, right?"

"I saw him but I don't think we've ever been introduced. I'm Tonks!" she said, extending her hand warmly.

Dudley merely stared at her hand without making a move to shake it, and Tonks lowered it lamely.

"Well alright then… Harry," she said, returning her attentions to the boy in question. "I think we might as well end our session for tonight. I need to head in to the Ministry anyway; Scrimgeour has been having us do extra night shifts. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you then," Harry replied. After a few more moments of awkward silence, she departed.

Harry turned back to Dudley. "So, I guess we should head home," Harry suggested, and immediately started walking in the opposite direction as Tonks, not bothering to see if his cousin was following him.

Soon enough, Dudley quickly fell into step beside Harry. If Harry and Tonks' silence was companionable, this could only be described as awkward.

Eventually the two of them made it back to Privet Drive. They went inside, and both Petunia and Vernon seemed shocked to see them walking in together with no apparent hostility.

"Hey Mum, hey Dad. I went to see Harry at one of his games, he did really well. He even agreed to be my boxing partner," Dudley explained simply. Harry was immensely relieved that he was indeed holding up his side of the bargain.

"But Dudkins! Why would you want to practice with him? He'll be terrible!" said Aunt Petunia, ever one to give Harry the vote of confidence.

Vernon quickly added his opinion, and the family began a discussion while Harry quietly slipped upstairs. He had no interest in listening to them talking about him like he wasn't there, and knew that they wouldn't ask for his input anyway.

Harry felt exhausted, and his jaw still twanged painfully. He didn't know whether to feel happy about convincing Dudley, or frustrated at convincing Dudley. He tiredly stripped into his pajamas, noting the multiple bruises that now coated his arms and legs. Boxing with Dudley was probably going to be pure hell.

He collapsed into his bed unceremoniously, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

* * *

It turns out, falling asleep right after you experience head trauma isn't the smartest decision. It was one of many things that Harry had learned over the past two weeks of training with Dudley. Training, however, might have been putting it lightly. If Aunt Petunia was a slave driver, then Dudley was an absolute Nazi.

Indeed, Harry considered himself lucky that he had managed to make it to his sixteenth birthday. Every morning, he went running with Tonks, and then the rest of the morning he struggled to complete a list of chores that he normally would have had all day to do. However, Dudley had insisted on spending every afternoon working out and boxing, and Aunt Petunia was unwilling to reduce his chores, so Harry usually found himself working like a maniac from 7:30am until 12pm to get them all done.

It was at 1pm that Dudley too over the rest of Harry's day. Even though Harry had only agreed to boxing, Dudley had successfully blackmailed him into working out every day from 1pm to 3pm under the threat of revealing the truth of Harry's evening outings. And so, after weightlifting at the local gym until his muscles screamed, Dudley then insisted on sparring from 3pm to 5pm, leaving him one hour before dinner to shower, read the Daily Prophet, and slowly chip away at his summer homework. After dinner ended at 7pm, Harry then went to practice dueling with Tonks, who was sympathetic to his plight but refused to lessen the ever-increasing intensity of their matches.

Needless to say, Harry had found himself bone tired every day, and he often fell asleep before he could even remove his clothes.

Still, Harry pressed on, and took comfort in the fact that everything he was doing (with the exception of his chores) was helping him against Voldemort in some way. While he always had a motley collection of bruises these days, he took pride that Dudley also sported a few of his own. Harry was beating Tonks more often than he lost, and they were both thrilled with his progress. According to Tonks, there wasn't much more she could teach him.

He had somehow grown another half an inch, and now stood at a healthy 6 feet (okay well 5 feet 11 ½ inches but really who was counting). While he had always been skinny, any trace of body fat he had once had was now gone. He wouldn't be winning any body-building contests after two weeks of working out, but his muscles were noticeably more defined.

Overall, Harry could actually say he was pleased with his progress.

Today was his birthday, and Tonks had planned to take him out for a celebratory dinner this evening. Harry had no idea what she thought of the whole thing, but Harry was seriously considering making a move. He could easily see them being together, but once again, she had remained carefully aloof, despite his innuendos and flirty teasing. Regardless, he and Tonks had grown incredibly close over the summer, and had developed a rapport almost as strong as the kind he had with Ron and Hermione.

He had written to his friends once more a while back, but he had only talked about trivial things. They had responded a week ago, and their letters were predictably empty of any useful information.

Equally useless were the Daily Prophet articles and pamphlets that were littered around his room, which had admittedly gotten quite messy. The Ministry had sent out leaflets with 'helpful hints' about avoiding Voldemort, Death Eaters, Inferi, and Dementors. They were such rubbish that he had only glanced at them before tossing them aside in disdain. If the Ministry honestly thought that those things would help people, they were sorely mistaken.

Today, he expected to receive his customary Daily Prophet issue, along with his friends' birthday presents and his yearly Hogwarts letter. He suspected he would get his OWL results as well, but he was less than optimistic about what marks he would get.

Harry sighed, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. His Aunt had ordered him to clean his room, which he had neglected in light of his other chores and activities. He had barely made a dent in the mess, and she was sure to give him hell about it tomorrow. But, the clock read 11:55, and Harry wasn't going to miss lunch just so he could organize socks.

Harry headed downstairs and sat down at the table, getting a friendly nod from Dudley that he mindlessly returned.

Things had changed quite a bit at the Dursley household. While Aunt Petunia remained as disdainful as always, Uncle Vernon had become miraculously neutral. Vernon's new attitude was due to his mistaken belief about Harry's apparent change to 'normalcy,' a belief that Harry was happy to reinforce whenever possible.

Harry ate in silence, allowing their conversation to go on around him. He shoveled down his chicken salad, his mind on the upcoming dinner he had with Tonks.

Soon, lunch was over, and Harry and Dudley wordlessly headed outside and started jogging to the local gym. Dudley had wanted to take the car, and Harry had wanted to run. It was only when Harry reminded him of how easily he had caught him a few weeks back that Dudley had agreed to compromise.

The two of them arrived at the gym, Harry barely winded and Dudley pouring sweat. They headed straight for the weightlifting section, and fell into a well-established routine.

Harry first spotted Dudley while he bench-pressed an obscene amount of weight. They then alternated, with Harry's load being much more reasonable.

Soon, they were doing curls, and then push-ups, and then sit-ups, and then more curls. Dudley chatted amiably about the football team he liked (and other such topics) while Harry mindlessly tuned him out. Dudley didn't talk too much, but when he did, he never had anything interesting to say, and he never seemed to care whether Harry responded or not.

Harry mused whether this was what Draco Malfoy felt like when he hung out with Crabbe and Goyle.

From curls they moved on to pull-ups, then chin-ups, then leg reps. Harry was sore, as always, but Dudley never seemed to get tired of this type of exercise. It was certainly a change from the grossly obese boy that he used to be.

Harry could only really think about Tonks, and what tonight was going to be like. He imagined conversations they would have in his head (that almost always ended with them making out), and tried to think of what he would say to her. He was heading to the Burrow in two more weeks, so if he wanted to have any time to spend with her romantically, he needed to make a move tonight.

Dudley and Harry made their customary route of the weight room and then headed to the machines, Dudley tackling them in earnest while Harry listlessly paid only enough attention so as to not squash his fingers.

Before he knew it, they were done with weight lifting for the day. Harry did his best not to look too excited. Only two more hours until they were done, and only four more hours until he saw Tonks.

Dudley led him to the boxing ring the gym sported, a weathered old thing that was nevertheless well taken care of. They put on their helmets and gloves and entered into the ring.

Harry, on his part, really tried to focus, he really did, but it just wasn't happening today. His mind kept wandering, and as a result, Dudley beat him soundly five matches in a row. Harry had never won against Dudley, but could fight him to a draw about a third of the time. Considering Dudley was actually a boxing champion and outweighed him by a good three or four stone, Harry considered that an achievement. If he ever got into a fist fight with anyone, even Crabbe or Goyle, odds were he would win or at least hold his own, and that was enough for Harry.

After getting soundly defeated for a sixth and seventh time, Dudley stopped for a water break. Harry was sore all over, and absolutely hated his life right now. It was his birthday, and here he was getting thrashed by his cousin in a sport he couldn't give two shits about.

Dudley returned, and Harry readied himself for another fight. Another two matches went by, and Harry barely managed to attack at all, instead relying mostly on blocking and evading.

Finally, there were only thirty minutes left, and Harry found himself watching the clock as often as he could (earning himself several more bruises in the process). Just as the tenth match was about to begin, Dudley stopped, and Harry stared at him with mild confusion.

"Look, I don't know what's up with you today, but beating you isn't even fun right now. We'll stop early for today, it's just not worth it to keep going. Consider it a birthday gift," said Dudley, being surprisingly thoughtful. Harry was genuinely surprised that he had remembered that it was his birthday.

"I'm sorry, I just have something coming up later today. Thanks Big D," said Harry, the nickname falling out of his mouth with ease.

Dudley grunted and slapped him on the back. "Not a problem. Let's head back. But we're walking this time."

Harry had no problem with that, and so the two of them walked the way back to Privet Drive. The walk consumed most of the extra thirty minutes that would have otherwise been spent sparring, and Harry was glad for it. The more time passed, the less time he'd have to wait to see Tonks.

They got back at 4:45pm, and when Harry opened the door to his room, he was happy to see a small pile of presents and letters on his bed. He had left his window open so that any owls could come in, and it seemed like his friends had all sent him something. He also noticed his Hogwarts envelope, which was much thicker than usual. So his OWL score had arrived after all. He also noted an envelope that had the word "Harry" written on the front in looping letter that Harry recognized as belonging to Albus Dumbledore. He set that letter aside and began opening his letters and presents.

Hermione had sent him a book titled "Spells for the Prospective Auror" that looked to be rather promising. Ron had sent him a package of sweets, which he stored away for later. Hagrid had sent him a wooden carving of a dog that looked remarkably like Sirius' animagus form, and Harry felt his eyes tear up unwillingly. It was easily his favorite gift, and he made a mental note to thank Hagrid when he got to Hogwarts.

Harry then turned his attention to his Hogwarts letter, and nervously opened the seal. Inside was his customary letter and list of supplies, along with a separately sealed paper and a letter and badge proclaiming him to be Gryffindor's new quidditch captain.

Well that was a surprise. Harry grinned widely, and was suddenly much less nervous about his OWL results. Now he was the same status as a prefect.

But still, Harry opened his OWLS, and saw that they were a little better than he expected.

Astronomy: A  
Care of Magical Creatures: E  
Charms: E  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O  
Divination: P  
Herbology: E  
History of Magic: D  
Potions: E  
Transfiguration: E

He knew he had done terribly in Divination and History of Magic, but was surprised that he had managed an E in Potions and Herbology. And he had gotten and O in Defense! The only thing that bothered him was that he still couldn't get into Snape's NEWT potions class with an E, meaning his dream of becoming an auror would never happen.

Finally, Harry turned his attention to the final letter. He opened it and saw that the letter itself was indeed from the Headmaster. It explained how Dumbledore was coming to pick Harry up at midnight exactly two weeks from today and would bring him to the Burrow. Harry's heart almost burst in happiness at that. So he was actually going to be able to leave the Dursleys.

Harry looked at the clock and noticed that it was almost 5:30. He quickly showered, and put on his nicest casual clothes. If he was going to see Tonks, he wanted to look decent tonight.

He headed downstairs right as the Dursleys were starting dinner. If they noticed his clothes, none of them said anything. Harry ate a normal portion of food tonight instead of his usually large portion so that he could still have room to eat with Tonks, but not be so hungry and eat so much at the restaurant as to be off-putting.

Dinner finally wrapped up, and Harry felt his stomach twist anxiously. He was nervous, excited, and was altogether overthinking the entire thing. He got up and cleaned his plate, and walked outside.

He didn't have to wait for more than thirty seconds before he felt someone hug him and say "Wotcher Harry! Happy birthday!"

Tonks was here. Harry swallowed compulsively, and wiped his palms on his jeans. He sent out a silent prayer to whatever or whoever might be listening to help him get through tonight without screwing up. He followed her invisible form down the street, allowing himself to calm down.

Whatever happened, he was going to have a great birthday dinner with the woman he liked. No matter what.

* * *

**A/N Ahhh no! A cliffhanger! Well I promised this would be the last Dursleys chapter, and it ran a bit longer than I planned on. SO, I bumped the dinner and Harry leaving the Dursleys to the next chapter. To people who wonder when we'll see this dark Harry I've been promising - never fear! I needed to establish Harry's compulsive desire to train, as well as his motivations for that training, in order to make it plausible that he'd turn to the dark arts in order to get stronger. Next chapter, we'll see Harry's first signs of temptation.**


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